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OF THIS EDITION 500 COPIES HAVE BEEN 
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C^O^Li JU* 




<Th ' 




Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly ? 
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy ; 
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv' st not gladly, 
Or else receiv' st with pleasure thine annoy ? 

[Shakespeare, Sonnet VIII. 



< Tv/'" v v/™' ; 



THE WOUNDED EROS 



bonnets 



BY 

CHARLES GIBSON 

AUTHOR OF 
THE SPIRIT OF LOVE AND OTHER POEMS 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE 




BOSTON 

PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 

printeb at tfre fitoer#be $tt& Cambri&0e 
1908 



fl.tb 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

OCT 29 1908 

Copyright tntry 
CUSS C*_ XXC, No 



COPYRIGHT, 190S, BY CHARLES GIBSON 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



f 6 35" J 3 



CONTENTS 

Sonnet Page 

A winged God, all powerful to-day . . . xxxviii 
I. When in the realm of rich resplendent 

thought i 

II. I dare not tell thee half the love I bear . . 2 

III. How shall I woo thee then, O fairest maid 3 

IV. With kisses would I woo thee first and say 4 
V. How shall I ever thank thee for the boon . 5 

VI. Is it, in truth, a gift from Heaven's hand . . 6 

VII. What winged boy hath caught again my heart 7 
VIII. Something did tell my soul, though not thy 

troth 8 

IX. In what uncertain guise doth passion strive 9 

X. With how distressed a sentiment my heart . 10 

XI. Now, should I chance to meet thee passing by 11 
XII. It is a strange and wondrous thing that 

brings 12 

XIII. I know not how to cast aside the power . 13 

XIV. I saw thee yester-even, through the maze . 14 
XV. Dost have no heart, sweet one, to visibly . 15 

XVI. Dost cherish something in thy heart for me 16 

XVII. How delicate a passion in the heart ... 17 

XVIII. To me thou art an angel, born to earth ... 18 

XIX. Is it then given to some, life's happiest hours 19 

XX. Have I not loved thee truthfully enough . . 20 



vi CONTENTS 

XXI. Shouldst thou, perchance, peruse these 

simple lines 21 

XXII. If love too oft repeats itself herein ... 22 

XXIII. How true it is that every joy we feel . . 23 

XXIV. Yet why repine ? *Tis he who laughs that 

wins . 24 

XXV. Oh, for the longed-for moment that might 

bring 25 

XXVI. Oh heart! hast thou no liberty to gain . 26 

XXVII. Dearest of dearer things, that are to me . 27 

XXVIII. For there is that in man which doth desire . 28 

XXIX. Sweeter than are the flowers of spring, 

that bloom 29 

XXX. Consign me not, while honoring thy love . 30 
XXXI. Was it with joy or with time's false relief 31 

XXXII. Dost thou not feel some longing in thy 

breast 32 

XXXIII. Even could to-day have brought thee unto 

me 33 

XXXIV. Dear heart! why dost thou shun my own 

desire 34 

XXXV. What fault within me dost thou cultivate . 35 
XXXVI. Loved one, though thou shouldst spurn 

me as a thing 36 

XXXVII. Didst have, for me, one fleeting hour of love 37 

XXXVIII. Ah me! Sad fate doth overcome my soul . 38 
XXXIX. And now what hope have I to touch thine 

heart 39 



CONTENTS vii 

XL. How often have I asked, through this past 

year 40 

XLI. Methinks the saddest of all pains to bear 41 
XLII. As the wild waves roll o'er some rock- 
bound coast 42 

XLIII. While sad at heart, that thou wilt not give 

me 43 

XLIV. When clouds disperse, and sunshine fills 

the sky 44 

XLV. Should I return, and find once more that 

thou 45 

XLVI. What God hath made thee half of graven 

stone 46 

XLVII. Canst thou not feel the tragedy of love. 47 
XLVIII. To-morrow I must journey for a space . 48 
XLIX. For what strange purpose hath God sent 

this longing 49 

L. How little comfort is there in the thought 50 
LI. For each long league that bears me far 

from thee 51 

LII. When last I saw thee, thou wert uppermost 52 
LIII. O mighty Prophet, who dost signify . . 53 
LIV. If thou hadst felt toward me as I to thee 54 
LV. Like the soft air of summer is thy smile . 55 
LVI. If every song I sing seems tinged with sad- 
ness 56 

LVII. Like the new moon, cold mistress of the 

heaven 57 



viii CONTENTS 

LVIII. Ah Love! Couldst thou but greet me 

every even 58 

LIX. Love is not passion; nor is passion love . . 59 
LX. What subtle fragrance, like some passion 

flower 60 

LXI. Unto the sea my love I would compare . 61 
LXII. There is a lovely avenue of trees ... 62 
LXIII. Upon the highland spaces greet me, Love 63 
LXIV. When the red sun sinks toward the west- 
ern line 64 

LXV. Whenever thou dost let a passing thought 65 
LXVI. If in the years to come life bringeth thee 66 
LXVII. Oh! when the cold, fleet-footed hour of 

dawn 67 

LXVIII. If, when thou hast found out that life is 

sorrow 68 

LXIX. With what despair thou hast inspired my 

muse 69 

LXX. How sweet to me are these soft days of 

spring 70 

LXXI. Thou earnest unto me last eventide . . 71 
LXXII. Yet now I cannot with impunity ... 72 
LXXIII. While thou art near to me, my spirit's 

bride J3 

LXXIV. While I gaze in thy dancing eyes, I seem 74 
LXXV. In springtime, when pale primroses in 

flower 75 

LXXVI. With every day that summer doth con- 
ceive 76 



CONTENTS ix 

LXXVII. I know a path of velvet green, that sinks jj 
LXXVIII. No time could hold my heart more fit 

than this 78 

LXXIX. Now love returneth with new grace to me 79 
LXXX. Though summer showers drown the seeds 

of love 80 

LXXXI. Like columbine in May, or rose in June 81 
LXXXII. Cold heart, that hath not felt some pass- 
ing pain 82 

LXXXIII. When thou, dear one, hast lived as long as 

1 83 

LXXXIV. Strange law, whose reason man doth not 

possess 84 

LXXXV. From Thee, Eternal Power, came my life 85 
LXXXVI. My hope had been, that I might find in 

thee 86 

LXXXVII. God, through His offspring Nature, gave 

me love 87 

LXXXVIII. With some, the law of love doth work at 

ease 88 

LXXXIX. Let not the measure of my love make 

thine 89 

XC. All else may die : the leaves that Nature 

bore 90 

XCI. O thou, fair youth, to whom the gods have 

given 91 

XCII. Believe not, gentle maid, that all is won 92 
XCIII. Love heeds not time, nor space, nor form, 

nor woe 93 



x CONTENTS 

XCIV. Happy my heart, and happier far was I . . 94 
XCV. Strive as I would to banish from my mind 95 
XCVI. Since on thy form hath beauty laid its hand 96 
XCVII. In those brief moments when thou wert my 

own 97 

XCVIII. Let not thy beauty serve thee in the guise . 98 
XCIX. When I alone unto my chamber go . . . 99 
C. When all the world would smile in summer 

time 100 

CI. A little flower in my garden groweth . .101 
CII. My love makes of my life a sad display 102 
CIII. If in thyself doth all my love reside . . . 103 
CIV. Though my true love should be my own 

undoing 104 

CV. Though thou shouldst not perceive how love 

in me 105 

CVI. To thee all life is but a passing pleasure . 106 
CVII. Not clothed in transient beauty nor pale 

health 107 

CVIII. No mind have I to tell thee all thou art . . 108 
CIX. Oh, Love doth play such wanton tricks with 

men 109 

CX. Not all the years of my uncounted pain . . no 

CXI. At least thou canst not say I have not loved in 

CXII. Often do I in meditation dream . . . .112 

CXIII. If thou who readst this verse do find herein 113 

CXIV. Yet ne'ertheless would I make holiday . .114 

CXV. Oh! well have I examined my defect . .115 



CONTENTS xi 

CXVI. Oh! what a thought hath filled my brain 

this night 116 

CXVII. And with the morn, though sunrise shall 

disperse 117 

CXVIII. Not every prince, nor king, nor emperor 

liveth 118 

CXIX. How shall I all thy virtues here recount . .119 
CXX. T is strange, how little doth the world per- 
ceive 120 

CXXI. That which we have we value not to-day . 121 

CXXII. Oh, chide me not, if in this life I make 122 

CXXIII. If thou wert chained by the bans of life . 123 

CXXIV. Thou art, in truth, my muse's only guide 124 

CXXV. Back from the sculptured chantry of the 

past 125 

CXXVI. If all the value of my love is this . . .126 

CXXVII. Oh ! lay aside thy pen, since thou must sing 127 

CXXVIII. The Wounded Eros fell upon the ground . 128 

thou, fair one, who never shalt be known 1 29 



INTRODUCTION 

In these Sonnets, the author has set down the 
record of a passion which makes one more of 
those stories of the heart written by the poets 
who have joined the company of Sir Philip Sid- 
ney. The company of poets is a glorious one, 
and the poetic stories are among the most 
touching expressions of human experience. 

We can find no difference between these great 
chronicles of the heart, beyond the fact of love 
winning or losing, except what time has made in 
the fashions of art between the sixteenth and the 
twentieth centuries. One cannot believe that 
the complex psychology in the interpretation of 
modern love makes that love essentially a differ- 
ent thing in man's nature then in its more primal 
expression, when social conditions were less reti- 
cent and self-conscious in the tameless civiliza- 
tion of the mid-sixteenth century. Here is the 
ancient and immemorial love of man for woman, 
whose only change has been the difference be- 
tween Adam waking to behold Eve beside him 
and the conventional introduction of the sexes 



xiv INTRODUCTION 

which the custom of the twentieth century de- 
mands. The influence of time upon love is not 
more literal in the science of sociology than in 
the art of poetry, and one has but to take a 
typical Elizabethan amatory sonnet-sequence 
and compare it with Mr. Meredith's " Modern 
Love," Mr. Blunt's "Esther," or Mr. Gibson's 
"The Wounded Eros," to be convinced of this 
opinion. The elemental note in the great sonnet 
cycles, from Petrarch's to those of our own day, 
being the realization of an objective ideal in the 
opposite sex, with the interpretation of it varying 
as human society progressed in its ethical, moral, 
and political aspects, there remains — what has 
always made the intensity of interest in this 
poetic form — the circumstance of personality 
giving tone and temperament to the particulars 
of this episodic drama of man's heart. Apart 
from any consideration of the perfection of art 
in which any series of related love-sonnets may 
be dressed, this question of the personal attitude 
compels interest. It is the private chamber of a 
human heart opened without reserve, for the 
intrusion of strangers to behold the truth of a 
bitter or joyous experience, as fate may decree. 



INTRODUCTION xv 

In this book of sonnets, there is touched a deep 
note of pathos in the unrequited passion of a man 
who tells the circumstances of his own love. It is 
so before all things, because it is the direct speech 
of a heart without subtlety. I mean, that he 
invents nothing that is illusory between himself 
and the object of his desire. If subtlety had been 
in the heart of this lover, one might have expected 
more frequent verbal conceits in the methods of 
telling his tale ; but the lack of them by no means 
diminishes the importance of its human interest. 
Indeed, the modern sonnet has gained in this 
respect over its predecessors of the English 
Renaissance. And in Mr. Gibson's sequence the 
interest is entirely a modern one. 

These sonnets of the "Wounded Eros" keep, 
moreover, the dignity that belongs to the char- 
acter of thought and feeling employed by the 
best examples. If less abstract in any symbolistic 
purpose, they gain narratively by allusions suffi- 
ciently definite to link each phase of emotion into 
a story, — the story old, but ever new, of passion 
in a man's heart for a woman's love, — and the 
character and progress of it unfolded in associa- 
tions wholly spiritual. The one here celebrated 



xvi INTRODUCTION 

leaves us with the impression of being a myth 
created in the fervent imagination of the poet. 
Her vague personality hovers in uncertain im- 
agery about the edges of the poet's metaphors. 
One feels her influence behind the poet's concep- 
tion of her virtues, her faults, and her physical 
charms, rather than by gaining any perception of 
her identity through speech or action. Yet it was 
around a similar ideal, or vision, that Dante 
and Petrarch wove stories of devotion and rhap- 
sodic worship : and Shakespeare has been able to 
mystify the curiosity of three centuries of prying 
criticism and literary history. 

Despite the revelation of the lover's heart in 
this poem, the poet has veiled, if indeed she 
exists at all in any world more palpable than 
Arcadia, the object of his affection behind the 
profuse chronicling of his own feelings. It is 
through him the story proceeds for us; his nat- 
ure acting as an impressionable substance upon 
which her influence shapes itself into mood and 
manner. Yet it is more often from memory and 
recollection — the consecration of a dream — 
that the image weaves its spell upon the wor- 
shipper: — 



INTRODUCTION xvii 

"Thou wilt not give me 
Thy treasured self, more often than the time 
Of every year doth change," 

he declares; and for a maiden so obdurate in 
denying those frequent meetings which are the 
very Eden^of love's progress, we can plainly see 
how the task became difficult in building the 
illusion of love between these two people of the 
imagination. 

If it was the woman's indifference which led 
to such arbitrary allowances of time when she 
might be visited, we can begin to understand 
from what source is taken the significance of the 
author's title. The writer of these Sonnets had, 
as the reader following his story will discover, 
his love wounded by all the opposing fates of his 
passion concentrating in the cruelty and vanity 
of the woman he loved. That even in these quali- 
ties of disposition, however, she was without that 
self-conscious arrogance which intentionally 
hurts the feelings of honest and faithful affection, 
is attested throughout the entire poem by many 
a gracious allusion. We are prone to consider 
her innocent of any base premeditated wile or 
motive; like Keats' Fanny Brawne, she simply 



xviii INTRODUCTION 

lacked that sympathetic nature which was able 
to penetrate and appreciate the true worth in the 
man's heart which fate had laid at her feet. 

"Tell me, in truth, why thou dost still seem fond 
Of me, yet 'neath my heart dost plunge the knife." 

This is the paradox in this woman's nature, and 
a bit of real human nature it is of the gentler 
sex, the attempt to delineate which has been 
the theme of much noble music flowing from 
wounded hearts. 

What is the mystery in the perverseness of 
such natures ? Is it the complexity in personality, 
of which the possessor has neither knowledge nor 
control ? Or is it the enigma of human nature 
moulded into the subtler diverse forms of the 
feminine sex ? Whatever it is, it offers questions 
in psychology hard to deal with in any form of 
art. That it can at least be handled with interest, 
this poem shows. Mr. Gibson's theme works out 
in its allotted way the immemorial conflict upon 
the old battleground. All the forces of individual 
character and temperament are levied in the pur- 
suit and the evasion; and when in the end comes 
the surrender or escape, — happiness or despair 



INTRODUCTION xix 

in the heart, — there is still the same wonder and 
mystery of it all, such as man and woman have 
experienced over and over again since time began. 
The end of this battle of man's and woman's 
heart against terms of alliance with the opposite 
sex is always, and has always been, inexplicable. 
A force deeper than can be comprehended or 
controlled — the vital preservation of the hu- 
man kind — draws them by its inevitable laws 
towards the completion of its wonderful purpose 
in mortal existence: and yet the peculiar circum- 
stances of man's intellectual sovereignty over 
the destiny of his kind have set this purpose into 
warring factions. 

Man never ceasing to follow the sun of his life 
in woman's heart, his brother shall never cease 
to take interest in the story of an experience 
which at one time or another has cast its sun- 
shine or shadow over the daily routine of his 
existence. In the hidden nooks and memory- 
places of each man's life there abides the reality 
or ghost of an ideal, with woman's hair and eyes 
and voice, cloistered in dreams of virtue and 
tenderness and inhabiting realms beyond reach 
and concern of man's workaday world with its 



xx INTRODUCTION 

practical and sordid interests. This ideal is car- 
ried in secret hours when no man's suspicion can 
detect the captured joy. It is far too holy a thing 
to have its birth and growth revealed to the 
unsympathetic knowledge of any whose hearts 
are not likewise confined in the prison-cage of a 
woman's soul. It is left for poets and romancers 
to look into men's hearts and tell the world the 
stories of these passions, for which life has given 
them the capacity to feel and enact, but not the 
subdety and precision of speech to express and 
interpret. 

The story of the "Wounded Eros" is, as the 
reader will discover, the story of an oblation full 
of inexplicable shadows. Certainly, as the lover 
relates the progress of his suit against the ob- 
stinacy and contradiction in the woman, — so 
vague in all her influences ! — there is consider- 
ably less of that heroic attitude in a love-passion 
which we would be inclined to associate with one 
who is so unreasonably ill-used. This man is 
ever the optimistic lover in his despair; constant 
— even unalterably persistent — in the hope of 
ultimately touching and winning the sympathy 
of her nobler self in the woman. True, at times, 



INTRODUCTION xxi 

because of that unimpeachable self-respect, 
which is the touchstone of all his dealings with 
life, he cannot keep silent about her faults of 
temperament. But the spirit in which he sings 
of these obvious shortcomings is one to chasten 
and correct that which does not so much offend 
his own sensibilities as it blemishes and affects 
the character and disposition of her womanhood. 
What true man has ever yet been blind to the 
faults in the woman he loved ! These deepen and 
enlarge her virtues, since after all she is essen- 
tially human beneath the divinity with which 
the idealization of man envelops her being. But 
all poets do not conceive the sex so realistically 
in this respect as Mr. Gibson. Nor in this does 
he take away anything from the exquisite fascin- 
ation that surrounds them. He makes, instead, 
more interesting and piquant those perverse ele- 
ments in the character of this woman, which 
furnish the episodical themes for his sonnets to 
weave their unhappy design upon the loom of 
his story. 

I want to indicate here what seem to me the 
important qualities in the poem, which are in- 
tended both to carry on its development from 



xxii INTRODUCTION 

one emotional phase to another of the story, and 
simultaneously to reveal the peculiar personal 
characteristics of the man and woman. I want to 
mention them in their detached aspects, because 
I think they are effective in an unusual way. 
And while, after a close study of these sonnets, 
I am convinced of their origin in the imagina- 
tion, — that is to say, there being no likelihood 
that the story is of an actually known experience, 
— I am impressed with the note of sincerity 
which will convince the reader of the poet's seri- 
ous and honest treatment of his material. 

In the circumstance which ensnares the man's 
affections as he conceives them, the author finds 
fate offering no atonement in the end for the 
bitter trials of faith and patience endured ; and 
in his art the poet offers no compromise to ap- 
pease the sentimentalist. Truth is too insistent 
of her rights. Logic is too tenacious, too piti- 
lessly inflexible in its purpose of carrying the 
intentions of fate to its grievous conclusions. 
Not at any point in the poem is there the least 
suggestion that chance will alter the fortunes of 
this battle of hearts. Only through a heightened 
sense of moral duty in the woman could there 



INTRODUCTION xxiii 

come that strength of sacrifice which is the test 
of noble characters, and change the final note of 
despair into one of exultation. While, as I have 
said, the author does not attempt to work his art 
into false attitudes, it is, strangely enough, just 
this hope which underlies his apparent resigna- 
tion at the end. He seems somehow to entrust 
Time to transform the alloy of inconstant youth 
in the nature of the beloved one into the purer 
womanhood of maturity, whom a larger experi- 
ence and deeper knowledge of life will teach to 
surrender her heart to his constancy, faith, and 
unwearying devotion. 

That there was a prophetic feeling from the 
very beginning that the fruits of his affection 
were to be bitter fruits, is suggested in Sonnet 
VII, where he declares, "Come, though I pay 
love's price in future pain." And yet, despite 
this open-eyed acceptance of a task so full of 
doubt, he can say in the very next Sonnet, — 

"This pen 

Now dedicate to love, thus born again 

Out of thy breast. . . ." 
He makes the dedication of his life upon the 
altar of her heart with all its strange inconstan- 



xxiv INTRODUCTION 

cies. With unquestionable intention she has 
lured him with the skilfully exercised arts of 
girlish insouciance. And yet, while her conduct 
is not exemplary, and should be lightly treated 
as the dross mixture in the frivolous tempera- 
ment of maidenhood, it is to be rigorously cen- 
sured when it continues wilfully to exercise itself 
upon the serious nature of a man. Although the 
first thought one has, when doubt and dismay 
have been the reward of affection, is to be merci- 
fully emancipated from the emotions which still 
make a woman dear, the heart cannot wholly 
abandon the ties no longer recognized; and so 
when, as in Sonnet XIII, he confesses, — 

"I know not how to cast aside the power 
That holds thy presence ever in my thought. 
By night or day, thy coming once hath brought 
Incessant longing for thee every hour. 
Why can I not, in truth, then, overpower 
This sense of something that is vainly sought, 
And still content me with a friendship caught 
From the occasional perfume of a flower ? " 

we feel in this case that the compromise is made 
in deference to the woman's lack of self-reliance 
in being frank. "A friendship caught from the 



INTRODUCTION xxv 

occasional perfume of a flower" — these lines, 
the most poetic and significant in the poem, are 
suggestive of a very subtle pathos; and obdurate 
as we are in not excusing the woman's frailties, 
we do pity her weaknesses, much in the same 
way as our regretful pity spends itself on some 
beautiful wild flower with faint and wasting 
odors. 

The flower of this lover's heart is one nurtured 
by the sunlight of the world's opinion. It is not 
sheltered in the quiet nook of pastoral inexperi- 
ence with the ways of the urban world. Morally 
unspotted, it is ethically tainted with all the 
sophistication of its environment. As in Sonnet 
XIV, she is seen 

"through the maze 
Of lights and worldly episodes of man," 

it is inevitable that her lover should cry, — 
"Shouldst thou, perchance, peruse these simple lines, 
I wonder even if thy heart would be 
Touched by the pathos of my love, and see 
In them the attitude that love defines, 
Unfettered by the selfish light that shines 
Through many a worldly eye." 

And in Sonnet XXIX, where he says she is 



xxvi INTRODUCTION 

"sweeter than are the flowers of spring," that 
"give a delicate perfume unto the airs," he ac- 
knowledges those charms which 

. . . "surprise 
My soul with smiles that banish every gloom," 

yet regretting that one so bountifully gifted with 
physical charms, and possessing all the polite 
accomplishments of culture, should be under 
those influences that are, like a canker, eating 
the loveliness of soul from her young life. 

"I would that I . . . 
Might pluck thee from thy temporary bed 
Of earthly pleasure, and possess the flower 
Of thy young life, to keep it worthily 
Within the garden of my heart." 

Before it is too late he would pluck her from 
her "temporary bed of earthly pleasure" — she 
whom Love stands ready to transform into the 
glory of her sex. The world, he tells her, is a bad 
school, with all its deceits, rivalries, and petty 
selfishness, and he who sees her comeliness 
would protect it from ruin in the "garden of his 
heart." With all his care and solicitude, with 
his admirable and untiring sacrifice, she remains 
unresponsive to the full hope in his soul. There 



INTRODUCTION xxvii 

are the "blessed hours" she brings him, but 
conferring them only to make him sadder for the 
brief joy. For, " dying all too soon," they leave 
him in 

"pain 
For many a day and weary week betimes." 

Because she constantly rejects the pressure of 
his suit, "Refusing strangely love's perpetual 
flowers," which she will not accept, his whole 
love seems vain, — 

"Save for th' alleviation of my rhymes." 

The solace he takes in rhyme is like an open 
sluice for the pent-up emotions which he has not 
been allowed to pour directly into the harbor of 
her affections. But time goes on and finds her, 
he declares, "false in thy profession of love's 
leaven," and ever escaping from the persistent 
assaults of a determined but irreproachable woo- 
ing. "Yet ne'er lose hope, my heart," he says : — 

"Thou shalt succeed, 
So thou persist in thy true quest, until 
All barriers opposing thee do fall." 

And what barriers they were, obstructing the 
realization of this hope ! Inconstant as the sea, 



xxviii INTRODUCTION 

with an almost diabolical power to delude and 
deceive, she seems to take infinite delight in 
raising the most sanguine expectations only to 
dash the joy in shattered fragments upon the 
ground of despair. Take Sonnet LXXI : — 
"Thou earnest unto me last eventide, 
When the dull pain of absence had well-nigh 
Made life for me one long-continued sigh — 

Oh ! rapture to my soul, more sweet to me 
Than glories to the conqueror of a nation ! 
Behold my dry heart, moistened at the sound 
Of thy dear voice — none dearer could there be — 
And my sad soul, once more within love's station, 
As thy fair form doth twine my heart around ! " 

Here at last seems the surrender. Now that her 
"fair form doth twine" around his heart, the 
very suddenness of victory inspires even in its 
joy a dubious misgiving; so hard won has it 
been, that all the past anxiety and pain robs it 
of half the exquisite realization the event should 
bring. Whether it is this, indeed, or a spirit of 
chastisement that the following Sonnet evokes, 
one does not dare positively to say : — 

"Yet now I cannot with impunity 
Receive the gilded pleasure of thy love. 



INTRODUCTION xxix 

God knoweth with what zeal for it I strove. 
But when I feel love's sweet community, 
It bringeth to me the lost unity — 
The loneliness." 

Despite the momentary doubt, however, the 
next six sonnets are rhapsodic in celebration of 
the perfect union of feeling that binds the two 
hearts. "For love at last walks hand in hand 
with me," he sings. And there seems to lurk in 
all their association the atmosphere of a convic- 
tion that happiness is finally to crown their lives. 
But the charm is snapped. The woman has not 
yet "drunk the cup of worldly pleasure dry." 
Betraying his trust again, she proves the fickle 
baseness of her nature. The wound she inflicts 
promises to be deep and lasting. The bitter cry 
in Sonnet LXXXVII, with its splendid opening 
line, pierces the heart with sympathy for this 
unhappy man : — 

"God, through his offspring Nature, gave me love, 
Though man in opposition saith me nay, 
And taketh from my heart its life to-day, 
As through the valley of the world I rove, 
Still unaccompanied. " 

From here on to the last Sonnet, the final stage 



xxx INTRODUCTION 

of an unhappy experience is told in many keys 
of emotion. Somewhat detached, in his resigna- 
tion to the inevitable, the man now turns upon 
his beloved a scrutiny of recollection which 
analyzes her physical and mental lineaments, 
and weighs each motive actuating her singular 
conduct. Fair in his judgments of her virtues, 
there is no hesitancy on his part to censure with 
rigor her distasteful faults. The good and the 
bad are so interwoven in her nature as not to be 
superficially discerned. 

She was a creature in whose nature contrary 
rarities were combined, to exercise upon man 
powers to excite the highest joy and the deep- 
est despair. She was, as Sonnet CVIII draws 
her, like "Satan in angelic vestment drest." 
A maiden with wonderful physical charms, — 
fair of complexion, from whose blue eyes shone 
the light of infantile innocence, — snaring the 
hearts of men to torture them with cold and cruel 
wantonness. Living for herself, and in herself, 
she took for granted the homage of the world. 
Pleasure that came to her through other peo- 
ple's suffering she accepted as the price due 
one to whom pleasure was ordained at birth. 



INTRODUCTION xxxi 

She never cared to consider life seriously; exist- 
ence was measured by her capacity for sensation. 
One wonders how far in this she is a type of the 
modern woman; or is she merely an exception 
in the portrayal here ? But sad it is that, beneath 
their frivolous exteriors, such women carry 
tragedy in their lives as a gift to men. 

"Yet love, though long unkind, hath taught me this, 
That I may find expression on its page; 
Though not the record of its perfect bliss, 
Yet, something of its value to mine age, 
Mixed with poison from the fatal kiss 
That love still bringeth in its equipage." 

The martyrdom has been suffered, and here is 
the record! It is hoped that something of its 
value — the lesson of its confession — may 
become a contribution to the age. Every deep 
human experience is significant of a moral. 
How it may affect the conduct of those who 
come to recognize in it an intimate and personal 
admonition or justification, depends on how 
deeply one's sympathy touches the subject in 
hand. 

The world of action is merely the concrete 
presentation of the illimitable cosmos of ideas; 



xxxii INTRODUCTION 

passion and pain, joy and sorrow, — the emotions 
dramatized into comic or tragic speech, — are the 
symbols of the phenomena of instinct, some- 
where actively concealed in the vague origins of 
the human family. Afloat on the swirling current 
of existence, man's soul is tossed and buffeted by 
the contrary influences of a rebellious primality. 
Its forces in the development and growth of 
civilization are recorded by history, demonstrated 
by science, and analyzed by philosophy. But art 
alone expresses and interprets it. Art alone con- 
tains that contagious spirit which underlies 
truth and beauty. It accomplishes this by an 
essential sincerity in the artist; and find what 
fault one will with the manner and method in 
the composition which pretends to the function 
of aesthetic presentation of life, this sincerity 
redeems the work. 

Little has been said here concerning the man- 
ner in which this poem is constructed. The 
interest of the substance was too inviting for one 
to be lured into dissecting its form. Artificial as 
the sonnet-form is, with all its limitations, we 
have Wordsworth's authority for its many possi- 
bilities. There is never any question of the 



INTRODUCTION xxxiii 

merits or demerits of a poet's sonnets. If he 
bends them to the purpose in hand, he achieves 
his intention, and in this respect the sonnets of 
the "Wounded Eros" are no exception. 

W. S. B. 



SONNETS 



Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing. 
Shakespeare, Sonnet LXXXVIL 



yf winged God, all-powerful to-day, 
-*-/ As in the ages past, hath brought my heart 
At once the joy of Heaven, yet, with black art, 
The curse of Hell ; combined in this lay. 
Therewith I must content me on my way, 
As love its fate doth to the world impart. 
And thou, who mayst from busy thought depart, 
To read what I in falt'ring verse shall say : 

If thou be young, let Cupid crown thy brow 
With myrtle green, like love's perpetual wreath; 
That thou but little of his wrath may know. 
Or, if the years shall bind thee in their sheath, 
And with old age thy locks do hoary grow, 
In Heaven , thou shalt find what was lost beneath. 



SONNETS 



WHEN in the realm of rich resplendent 
thought, 
The glories of love's paradise appear, 
How soon do smiles dispel the midnight fear, 
And bring possession of the prize long sought ? 
Unto the banquet of the heart are brought 
Fresh delicacies that to all are dear. 
At such a feast, O lover, dry thy tear, 
And think no more on battles that are fought. 

Let all thy powers celebrate in song 
This victory thou hast won from solitude. 
Think not of sorrow's pall, nor fate's past wrong 
That once delayed thy soul's beatitude. 
At Hymen's court shalt thou reside for long, 
Since thou art of love's crowned multitude. 



SONNETS 



II 

I DARE not tell thee half the love I bear, 
Stored in this amorous bosom, oh, my heart, 
Lest thou believe me mad, and we should part; 
As with the one, whose love I first did share. 
Stirred in hot haste my heaven to declare, 
I wooed too warmly, while young Cupid's dart, 
Plunged 'neath my breast, saw happiness depart, 
Just as I hoped Love's magic crown to wear. 

Long have I mourned ; yet now that thou art found, 
My folly would repeat its youthful test; 
Yea, with a thousand follies, at the sound 
Of love, once more begotten in my breast. 
Still hold me, Sorrow! Wisdom would resound 
Within my soul, and whisper what is best ! 



SONNETS 



III 

HOW shall I woo thee, then, thou fairest maid 
That e'er did stir a lover true to love ? 
Fluttering its wings upon the air, a dove 
Descends, the emblem of what God hath said 
Was peace and love to every man that's made, 
To seek on earth some emblem from above; 
To strive once more for that for which he strove, 
And see the truth of life before him laid. 

Thus wouldst thou lead me to some higher way 
Than man doth seek, to satisfy desire, 
Fanned by the glories of this corporal form, 
Made manifest by something that doth say : 
Now let these senses thine own soul inspire, 
And brave the turmoil of thy passions' storm." 



SONNETS 



IV 

WITH kisses would I woo thee first and say, 
"Come to my garden, thou fair violet 
flower." 
Sweet is th' intoxication of thy power 
That bringeth some new fragrance every day: 
Nor these embraces would I gladly stay, 
At my first thought and knowledge of the shower 
Of the living evidences that empower 
The loving to assume the lover's way. 

But, lest thine own too maidenly reserve 
Shall not requite the gladness of my soul, 
Blind to all else but that which may preserve 
The extasy of love's attained goal, 
I must needs pause, alas! once more, and serve 
Minerva's colder law and pay its toll. 



SONNETS 



HOW shall I ever thank thee for the boon, 
Thou winged child, that lifted thus my soul, 
And quenched the thirst for love, that many a bowl 
Of golden wine had failed, alas ! too soon, 
To satisfy, from eventide to noon ? 
For I, who lingered near some mossy knoll, 
Received thy love-tipped arrow at its goal; 
And bare the wound, rejoicing with a tune. 

Then bind, fair one, with love thy wounded swain. 
Give him thine eyes, but breathe thy soul as well 
Into his welcome heart, that beats with pain, 
Lest it should have an hapless tale to tell. 
Ah ! Spare me that, my love, and in thy train 
Shall Heaven be wherever thou mayst dwell ! 



SONNETS 



VI 

IS it, in truth, a gift from Heaven's hand 
That brings thee hither, loved one, to prepare 
My heart once more, for something that shall share 
The worship which thy being would command ? 
Behold me, Venus! Measured in the band 
Of votaries, at the shrine and in the air 
Of myrtle boughs and honey-scented hair, 
That make of Love a pleasing fairy-land ! 

Take me, mine own ! But art thou yet mine own, 
Though on this couch that holds thee I recline, 
To melt in sadness at thy very frown, 
And laugh if I but knew that thou wert mine ? 
Then temperance in thy love ! My heart, refrain ! 
Let wisdom rule if victory should remain ! 



SONNETS 



VII 

WHAT winged boy hath caught again my heart, 
To hold it now in beauty's fair embrace, 
Who, with enticing attitude, the place 
Of love once more hath wounded with his dart ? 
Half fearing first, I begged him to depart; 
Yet now, enslaved in love's half-hidden maze, 
How can I, loving thee, my voice upraise, 
And leave behind the vision that thou art ? 

Come, then, sweetheart, and meet my own caresses ; 
Come, though I pay love's price in future pain. 
Greet me at eve with those delicious kisses, 
That bear the realms of Heaven in their train. 
Tell me of odors sweeter than thy blisses : 
Then, only then, from love would I refrain ! 



SONNETS 



VIII 

SOMETHING did tell my soul, though not thy 
troth, 
That I might find in love life's pleasant morning, 
Like lovely maid, some flowery grove adorning, 
Just as in verse imagination doth. 
The thought I treasured in me, nothing loth, 
Yet never dreamed that I should find Love scorning 
That which I gave; to spurn it without warning, 
And crush the flower as lightly as a moth. 

May I not yet with gratitude this pen 
Now dedicate to love, thus born again, 
Out of thy breast, and seemingly to stay ? 
Thou fair divinity, adored of men, 
To death I must consign my banished pain, 
And find in thee the fulness of to-day ! 



SONNETS 



IX 

IN what uncertain guise doth passion strive 
To work in men the mischief of their being ; 
Even as Satan doth pursue them, fleeing 
In fear from their own shadows, while alive. 
Yet, from the realm of passion we derive 
Something that with true love is well agreeing; 
That he who once hath seen is alway seeing, 
Tragic, yet like a flower that doth revive. 

And thou, my own, whose love doth quicken life 
To fragrant sweetness hitherto unknown, 
Take me, but half unworthy as I come, 
And rule my dear heart's dwelling as my wife. 
By deeds the spirit of true love is shown, 
Though passion still doth find its earthly home. 



io SONNETS 



WITH how distressed a sentiment my heart 
Doth think of thee, my heart alone can tell, 
Nor easily interpret thoughts that dwell 
Within this sorrowing spirit, lest we part, 
To meet not as we have, with love's sweet art 
Designing pictures in some flowery dell 
That held those garlands which from lovers fell ; 
For every time I think of thee I start. 

*T is long since thou didst come, to make my life 
A heaven of fleeting rapture in my breast, 
Bright as the silvery star, that shines above 
The firmament of man's uncertain strife. 
Thou tookest from me all that I possest; 
Then give me, give me in return thy love ! 



SONNETS ii 



XI 

NOW, should I chance to meet thee passing by, 
That holy fear would overcome my soul, 
Which poets speak of, as th' attained goal 
Of love's ideal doth seem to greet the eye. 
Still, would we ask our own desire why 
We find love's bark oft wrecked upon the shoal, 
That lies beneath the quivering waves, that roll 
In cold deception of the lovers' tie. 

The old familiar wound comes back to me, 
My loved one; the neglect (though thou shouldst think 
It scarce neglect) stings nightly my poor heart. 
Each day is lost that brings no sight of thee. 
Must I then once again this goblet drink, 
Of love's sweet poison, as we drift apart ? 



12 SONNETS 



XII 

IT is a strange and wondrous thing that brings 
Love unrequited to the human heart. 
To me it comes ; from thee it would depart. 
And all the while a stirring song it sings, 
Bearing an undescribed refrain that clings, 
In unremitting strength, like that sweet dart 
Whose love-tipped messenger of life thou art. 
It bears to me a memory that stings. 

Must I then languish in remembrance of 
Those treasured moments of unearthly joy, 
That bore me to the realm of magic halls, 
Where are reflected images of love ? 
I trow, thou hast no heart to thus destroy 
My own heart's happiness that from thee falls! 



SONNETS 13 



XIII 

1KNOW not how to cast aside the power 
That holds thy presence ever in my thought. 
By night or day, thy coming once hath brought 
Incessant longing for thee every hour. 
Why can I not, in truth, then, overpower 
This sense of something that is vainly sought, 
And still content me with a friendship caught 
From the occasional perfume of a flower ? 
Oh, lover! ask that question of thyself, 
And answer it, in face of nature's calling : 
If in all reason thou couldst satisfy 
Such craving in thy soul. For I myself 
Hold difficult the effort of forestalling 
That which I most reluctantly defy. 



H SONNETS 



XIV 

I SAW thee yester-even, through the maze 
Of lights and worldly episodes of man, 
Filling the room with brilliancy, that can 
So well adorn thy loveliness, and daze 
My wondering eyes, each time I mutely gaze 
On thee from far, while all thy treasures fan 
This fever of my soul. Oh, cast this ban 
Of fear from off myself and hear my praise ! 

Yet, when at last we met, how cruelly 
The fascination of thy careless speech 
Pierced my poor heart, held in love's fell disease, 
While I, o'erwhelmed by force of loving thee, 
Unable wisdom toward myself to teach, 
Did tremble in thy presence, ill at ease. 



SONNETS 15 



XV 

DOST have no heart, sweet one, to visibly 
Perceive the romance of my life's desire, 
To formally within thy breast inspire 
That reverence for love, which is to me 
The holiest element 'twixt those who see 
The spiritual, earthly things attire ? 
Thus, in my longing soul, I would aspire 
To capture thy fair being finally. 

Ah ! may that day be mine, before life's morning 
Ends, all too soon, the power to attain 
By physical endearment thy sweet soul : 
Thy heart my own, and mine thy life adorning 
With all the gifts of love, that appertain 
To the ideal of love's own sacred goal ! 



16 SONNETS 



XVI 

DOST cherish something in thy heart for me, 
Loved one ? Then give it, lest the time should pass, 
And we lose something we should have. Alas, 
How often is this futile aim to be 
Destroyed by that still dangerous enemy 
Of love's best happiness : the fatal glass 
Through which the hours fall ? Ah, let it pass 
Not thus that Nature meant that we should be ! 

If, in thy character no longing comes, 
For interchange of confidence or love, 
How can love live, unnourished by the draught 
Of that which forms the happiness of homes ? 
If in thy spirit thou couldst but approve, 
Then take this cup that willingly I quaffed ! 



SONNETS 17 



XVII 

HOW delicate a passion in the heart 
Is this, conceived beneath the roughest form ! 
Yet, while the sentiment of love is warm, 
We feel the force of sorrow, should we part. 
Thus would it seem to me, whene'er thou art 
Occasionally ruffled by the storm 
Of my desire, swiftly to inform 
Thy spirit of the love which I impart. 

Turn not thy head, fair one, away from me; 
Nor at my words condemn the soul's desire, 
That drives from man all thought of other things. 
Torn by my passion, I would willingly 
Cast all earth's treasures to th' eternal fire, 
If I might once fly heavenward on thy wings ! 



18 SONNETS 



XVIII 

TO me thou art an angel, borne to earth 
By some fair chance that fans the summer wind. 
Thus would thy magic power upon me bind 
The tendrils of my heart about thy birth. 
There is, indeed, in thy fair soul no dearth 
Of the divine incentive to be kind, 
I veritably do believe, but find 
Unutterable sorrow in thy worth. 

An angel I have told thee that thou wert; 
Yet thou denied the truth of my true saying, 
That thou possessed the beauty of the gods. 
Was it more true — ah, how my heart is hurt, 
To half believe that thou, like Satan playing, 
Couldst set at naught love's holiest periods 1 



SONNETS 19 



XIX 

IS it then given to some, life's happiest hours 
To blissfully enjoy, in love's delight ? 
Behold, ye gods! I look upon the sight! 
I swoon and die, to feel that nature's flowers 
Do, in my own experience, their powers 
Of giving fragrance lose within the night. 
Yet would my heart reveal the lover's plight, 
And seek, in thy pursuit, celestial bowers. 

Oh, tell me that thou art not cold and dumb 
To my entreaties for one little part 
Of what thou holdest in impiety! 
Here at thy feet, I beg but for a crumb 
Of love's own comfort, for this aching heart, 
That doth deserve its full satiety. 



20 SONNETS 



XX 

HAVE I not loved thee truthfully enough, 
Sweetheart ? How canst thou willingly deny 
That through love's intercourse I did comply 
With every whim of thine ? Couldst thou rebuff 
The tenderness of love with paltry stuff 
That men do flatter with, and thus defy 
Far holier elements of life ? Ah, why 
Dost thou prefer a hand still stained and rough ? 

Is it not that, surrounding thee, are many 
Who think less deeply than my heart would go, 
To find a kindred being in the air 
Of sacred treasures, that but few, if any, 
Seek in this life (and thus their folly show), 
While we might still love's habitation share ? 



SONNETS 21 



XXI 

SHOULDST thou, perchance, peruse these simple 
lines, 
I wonder even if thy heart would be 
Touched by the pathos of my love, and see 
In them the attitude that love defines, 
Unfettered by the selfish light that shines 
Through many a worldly eye. Perchance if she, 
To whom my love is given, comes to me 
In after years, while still my heart repines : 

Ah then, how can I tell what memories 
May not have saddened all that makes life cheery ? 
How can I know, it will not be too late, 
And that, by then, these loving reveries 
Disperse with time, when I am old and weary 
Of my stern race with life and sterner fate ? 



22 SONNETS 



XXII 

IF love too oft repeats itself herein, 
These verses testify to my dear cause ; 
To eagerly acclaim, but never pause, 
In this belated quest, if I would win. 
Let it not then be counted as a sin, 
Should this one word occur in every clause, 
That doth my heart describe with truth, because 
No other dwells so fittingly therein. 

For if not thus, how else may lovers speak, 
Save in that self-same language, recognized 
By all who have experienced the fire 
Of love's sweet passion, which, though strong or weak, 
Gives that with which all men have sympathized, 
And still on earth doth every soul inspire ? 



SONNETS 23 



XXIII 

HOW true it is that every joy we feel 
Carries its own full price of equal pain, 
And brings to us some sorrow in its train. 
I thought me safe from love, yet now I kneel 
Before thy lovely being, and conceal 
But little of that joy which I obtain. 
Still what I have seems mixed with thy disdain. 
How can I then unto thy soul appeal ? 

If it is but the force of my disease 
That makes me over-sensitive with thee, 
And causes me to suffer at thy frown, 
Or long thy fleeting anger to appease, 
'T is difficult for my blind love to see 
How best with jewels thy fair head to crown ! 



24 SONNETS 



XXIV 

YET why repine ? 'T is he who laughs that wins. 
The careless, gay, unfeeling company 
Of men who think not of emotion, see 
Th' accomplishment of their unholy sins 
Bring from the many an applause that dins 
The voice of one poor soul, who lives to be 
Truer to nature's homily than he 
Who cares not how love's happiness begins. 
Then let me sing with gayety and smile ; 
Though hard it be to mask my agony 
Of loneliness, when thou art otherwise 
Engaged. Assist me, Eros, to beguile 
This heart, that cares more for the company 
Of those who would be neither great nor wise ! 



SONNETS 25 



XXV 

OH, for the longed-for moment that might bring 
Thy soul in closer touch or tune with mine, 
And, in the fulness of its love, entwine 
Our hearts in one eternal praise; to sing 
Love's paean unto God ! An angel's wing 
Were better suited to thy form, to shine 
In Heaven's brilliancy, and make divine 
That which thy soul upon this earth would fling. 

Whatever change of heart may come to thee, 
Thou fairest of earth's flowers, my beloved, 
Think not to find me absent from thy side, 
In that blest hour, which I have prayed to see; 
Nor shrink, from fear that I may be removed 
From thy dear shrine, whatever may betide. 



26 SONNETS 



XXVI 

OH heart, hast thou no liberty, to gain 
That which thou seekest so persistently ? 
'T is now full many a year, insistently, 
That thou dost search for love's maturer fane. 
Art thou thine own to be refused again 
By nature's rude requital now to thee : 
This poor return for love's best gift ? Ah me ! 
Why should she turn thy pleasure unto pain ? 

'T is only then by loving me that thou, 
Dear one, canst save me from eternal fire : 
Unending grief from which I may not rise, 
Save by the glad acceptance of a vow 
From thee; to turn Hell's flame to Heav'n's desire, 
That those who love shall win Love's sacred prize. 



SONNETS 27 



XXVII 

DEAREST of dearer things, that are to me 
More dear each hour that my spirit grows 
In its intensity of love, and flows 
With warm desire; thy true love I would see, 
Crowning that which I oft have wished to be 
Th' attainment of my life. He little knows, 
Who hears of me from enemies and foes, 
How true is my own soul's sincerity. 

For I had rather brave the fires of hell, 
Than know that thou shouldst never come to me, 
With love's embraces in thy fair blue eyes, 
And that on earth I ne'er should hear thee tell 
My grateful spirit, how thou mightest be 
That which alone hath power to quench my sighs. 



28 SONNETS 



XXVIII 

FOR there is that in man which doth desire 
Some time, in every heart, the play of love : 
The emulation of his life above, 
Before he came to earth, here to aspire 
To something unattained, and feel the fire 
Of untaught passion, his new being move 
To sorrow, that it doth so ill behoove 
The sense of love to suddenly inspire. 

For who so harsh, that he denies th' embrace 
Of beauty's arms about his melting form; 
Or doth refuse the loved one's proffered kiss, 
When, half reclining, she would seem to chase 
All care from off this earth, in one fair storm 
Of loveliness, whose presence is true bliss ? 



SONNETS 29 



XXIX 

SWEETER than are the flowers of spring, that 
bloom 
In all their fragrance underneath the skies; 
Fairer than all those glories that arise 
From earth, to give a delicate perfume 
Unto the airs, that by their birth assume 
New life and joyousness; I would surmise 
To be thy charms, which frequently surprise 
My soul with smiles that banish every gloom. 

I would that I, one half as easily, 
Might pluck thee from thy temporary bed 
Of earthly pleasure, and possess the flower 
Of thy young life, to keep it worthily 
Within the garden of my heart, and wed 
Thy true love to my own far greater power! 



3 o SONNETS 



XXX 

CONSIGN me not, while honoring thy love, 
To the sad realm of lovers who have lost 
The prize, that oft to them their life hath cost; 
Nor send me from th* Olympian height above 
This poor, imperfect life wherein we move, 
Deep down into the nether world. At most, 
Have pity on a lover that thou dost 
Not have the heart to readily reprove. 

My own, my loved one, oh, receive from Heaven 
That which I pray for nightly, ere I lay 
My suffering soul to rest! I would that I 
Had power to give what Nature hath not given 
To thy dear self, and that this looked-for day 
Might yet be borne upon thee, by and by! 



SONNETS 31 



XXXI 

WAS it with joy or with time's false relief, 
That I perceived the presence of thy being, 
Clothed all in charm, once more alone, and seeing, 
Beheld in thee both happiness and grief ? 
For surely, Cupid, thou art but a thief, 
To steal from" man his heart, and, with it fleeing, 
Reduce him to love's penury, agreeing 
The while to soon replace his lost belief. 

Loved one, thou bringest with thee pleasant hours, 
That, dying all too soon, leave me in pain 
For many a day and weary week betimes ; 
Refusing strangely love's perpetual flowers ; 
Without the which my love for thee seems vain, 
Save for th' alleviation of my rhymes. 



32 SONNETS 



XXXII 

DOST thou not feel some longing in thy breast 
For an affection that on earth must play 
The part of Heaven's imitation, yea, 
The power on which true love must surely rest ? 
How willingly would I thy spirit wrest 
From its cold prison house, and wake to-day 
Some sentiment in thee, that should not say 
My love was but a visionary quest! 

What power can make thee understand, that I 
Do feel for thee all Heaven and Hell combined 
In one magnificent emotion here, 
And that thou mightest profit well thereby, 
Couldst thou but recognize the love confined 
Within thy heart, and cause it to appear ? 



SONNETS 



XXXIII 

EVEN could to-day have brought thee unto me 
But for one fleeting hour, I might rest 
In the enchantment of thy bliss, and best 
Enjoy this marking of the years that see 
A quest of love, that from my birth must be 
The strongest passion stirred within my breast. 
Still, though my soul this prayer to thee addrest; 
Thou wouldst not to so slight a gift agree. 

And yet, how little honor, fame, compare, 
In satisfaction to this longing heart, 
With one delicious moment in thine arms! 
Tormenting vision of the holy air 
Of heaven, from which on earth we soon do part; 
While nothing the uneasy spirit calms! 



34 SONNETS 



XXXIV 

DEAR heart! why dost thou shun my own desire 
To be with thee each hour of every day, 
Each day in every year, and with thee play 
The game of love thy beauty would inspire ? 
I cannot now extinguish the sweet fire 
That burns within my soul. To thee I say, 
I am in an imperishable way 
Thy faithful friend, whose love shall never tire. 

Dost thou then fear committal to be mine, 
Even for a space, lest scandal touch thy name ? 
No thought is further from my wish towards thee. 
To make our sweet companionship, in time, 
Ripen to all that life may bring to fame, 
Is my intention for thyself and me. 



SONNETS 35 



XXXV 

WHAT fault within me dost thou cultivate ? 
What still reject, though I assure my heart, 
That I am all thine own, and not in part 
The man thou dost possess and captivate ? 
Still, while I thank the gods, I would berate 
The irony of nature that doth start 
In me the wound that Cupid's fiery dart 
Hath caused to flow, and mourn it, now too late. 

Why must the mistress of emotion give 
To one a portion of divine desire, 
And to another an unending flow 
Of love's untempered thought, that cannot live, 
Save in some reservoir, that must inspire 
The whole of thy fair being love to know ? 



36 SONNETS 



XXXVI 

LOVED one, though thou shouldst spurn me as a 
thing 
Unworthy of affection or regard, 
Think not alone that vanity may guard 
Thy spirit from the friend that thou wouldst fling 
So heedlessly aside. For life may bring 
Its own swift sorrow, sad, or cold, or hard ; 
Then mayst thou think, perchance, of that young bard, 
Who came to thee, his song of love to sing ! 

And when thy heart repine thee, if it doth, 
Take from my own the sorrow thou hast given, 
Like to a travesty of happiness, 
Devoured in its fulness by a moth, 
That eats the leaf from off the tree of Heaven, 
And leaves the soul of man in loneliness ! 



SONNETS 37 



XXXVII 

DIDST have, for me, one fleeting hour of love ? 
Then conjure to thyself that thought again ; 
Nor from its own sweet constancy refrain, 
Till earth and air, and everything above 
This hemisphere of human hearts, doth have 
No longer any substance in its train. 
Toward this ideal I willingly would strain 
Each nerve, my soul from endless grief to save. 

Sweet, honeyed flower, whose breath, to me divine, 
Makes earth at once seem Heaven, that Heaven thyself; 
Bring me the fragrance of thy scented being, 
More full of fair sensation than sweet wine, 
That doth entice new torments to myself; 
And give to me what I, half blind, am seeing. 



38 SONNETS 



XXXVIII 

AH me! Sad fate doth overcome my soul, 
As the old year now passeth from my sight, 
And many a hope lies dying with its flight, 
To hear the death-knell of the hours toll. 
Even as the sounds upon the night airs roll, 
Death giveth place to birth, and Love's delight 
Is born, in some young heart, that soon may plight 
Its simple troth, and reach the promised goal. 

I would that, with this old year, there might die 
In me all sorrow, or desire to have 
That which I may not soon possess as mine, 
Or that this hour new-born might still defy 
My own well-founded fear, that thy true love 
Should never once through life upon me shine ! 



SONNETS 39 



XXXIX 

AND now what hope have I to touch thine heart, 
As the new year brings joy to every land ? 
What chance is there that thou shouldst understand 
That which defies my power to impart 
To thy dear self its meaning, though I start 
To win anew with love thy treasured hand ? 
Like some uncertain pebble on the sand, 
I find me now, tossed by the waves that part. 

Oh! canst thou not, sweet pearl upon the ocean 
Of love's resistless power to possess 
All men in its divine and fair embrace, 
Perceive my unmistakable devotion 
To thy sweet self, and give but one caress 
That might so easily thy presence grace ? 



4 o SONNETS 



XL 

HOW often have I asked, through this past year, 
If all that I have suffered did repay 
My fleeting joy of Heaven for a day; 
That made thy soul at once to me more dear 
Than all else in the whole wide world. I fear 
That, in my heart, I may not truly say 
It brought Love's recompense within its way, 
Or caused the lowering of Love's sky to clear. 

And yet, although thou wouldst misuse my love, 
Without apparently one real regret, 
How shall I, loving as I do, despair 
That thou mayst still, some happy day, disprove 
The charge that stains thy name : soon to forget 
That which thou wert the first one to declare ? 



SONNETS 41 



XLI 

METHINKS the saddest of all pains to bear 
Are those which break in twain the lover's heart, 
Which cling to life when love from life doth part, 
And cause it to take sorrow for its share. 
In vain do men go forth, in dim despair, 
Seeking to extricate Love's poisoned dart 
From some dark spot whence it would not depart, 
And still return to find it fastened there. 

O god of Love! Some mercy to thy swains 
Show in the hours of agony they feel! 
Couldst thou but suffer half they do endure, 
Or feel in part the measure of their pains ; 
With something, thou wouldst try their wounds to heal, 
Or else endeavor thy disease to cure! 



42 SONNETS 



XLII 

AS the wild waves roll o'er some rock-bound coast, 
And break in futile effort to possess 
Something beyond their reach, I must confess 
Am I in my fierce passion, that can boast 
No more of thee than surging seas at most 
Do find as they rebound in their distress, 
Half-clothed in weeds and winter's sombre dress; 
So often have I thought thy love was lost ! 

Yet, at one little word or smile from thee, 
These winter storms do change to summer seas, 
And I am softened in a moment's time. 
So would the magic of thyself give me 
A sweeter sentiment, that still doth please 
More than the summits of desire to climb. 



SONNETS 43 



XLIII 

WHILE sad at heart, that thou wilt not give me 
Thy treasured self, more often than the time 
Of every year doth change ; thy lover's crime 
I still may countervail, while I do see 
Thy lovely form once more, enclosing thee 
Reclining in my arms, and leave sad rhyme 
For power to rejoice, that love sublime 
Hath still returned again to solace me. 

If not thyself, let that remembrance come : 
The holiest hour that I have known in life, 
When all I felt were God and Heaven and thee, 
To still remain, when thou dost leave my home, 
That without thee is only a sad strife 
T wixt my desire and that which cannot be. 



44 SONNETS 



XLIV 

WHEN clouds disperse, and sunshine fills the sky, 
Then doth my heart think fittingly of thee ; 
And I imagine that thou think'st of me, 
As one who loveth for eternity. 
Fair one, could this but be a certainty, 
No longer would I crave in vain to see 
The face of Heaven after death, but be 
Forever on this earth while thou wert by. 

Ah ! but such dreams of happiness disperse, 
Like visionary clouds upon the air 
That warms with sunlight o'er some summer's day, 
And chills again, as doth my passing verse, 
Whenever thou refusest Love's sweet lair, 
To which thou know'st so well the only way! 



SONNETS 45 



XLV 

SHOULD I return, and find once more that thou 
Wert willing to become but half my bride, 
With what swift pace would I, in gladness, ride 
O'er the salt seas or coursing streams, that plough 
Their way 'twixt rocky chasms, and endow 
Their passage with those dangers that betide 
Love's course, as we pursue it side by side. 
Sweetheart! What would I give to see thee now! 

And yet how sad, this knowledge that I hold, 
From past experience, within my heart: 
That even should I be within thy reach, 
Thou wouldst not make one effort to enfold 
Mine arms in thine, cold maiden that thou art! 
How then, at last, love to thee shall I teach ? 



46 SONNETS 



XLVI 

WHAT God hath made thee half of graven stone, 
Half godlike, His own image to portray 
That thou shouldst so continually stray 
From every love-shaft that my verse hath thrown 
For these long years toward thee, and still disown 
The very sentiment that thou dost say 
Moves thee to love, though in some other way 
Than I to thee in my full heart have shown ? 
Loved angel, of some sphere so far beyond 
The sordid realm of this poor fleeting life, 
That thou art some fair spirit clothed with form, 
Tell me, in truth, why thou dost still seem fond 
Of me, yet 'neath my heart dost plunge the knife 
Of love's sad torture, and my spirit storm ? 



SONNETS 47 



XLVII 

CANST thou not feel the tragedy of love, 
That followeth the train of thy delay 
To give what thou hast owed, full many a day, 
Unto my patient soul; that surely strove 
Last year thy loving sentiment to move 
Toward something higher than mere passion's sway ? 
How canst thou then, in truth, to thine heart say 
Thou hast fulfilled the duty of true love ? 

I fear me that, like many, thou dost find 
A cruel joy in breaking this poor heart, 
Whose only crime is that it loves too well. 
Dost feel no obligation to be kind 
To those who honor thee, nor to depart 
From evils that no mortal can foretell ? 



48 SONNETS 



XLVIII 

TO-MORROW I must journey for a space. 
A year it seemeth, though a month it be ; 
For in it thou remainest far from me; 
Nor shall I once behold thy lovely face, 
Whose coming doth so well my chamber grace; 
But feel the hope, oft vain, that I may see 
Some passing vision, or something of thee, 
Which each new day I live doth grow apace. 

Ah ! Thou didst come with others to my shrine, 
Even as the sun did set this afternoon, 
And give to me one of those rare delights, 
That move my soul to lose itself in thine ; 
Like some fleet harbinger of Love, that soon 
Departs from me for many days and nights ! 



SONNETS 49 



XLIX 

FOR what strange purpose hath God sent this 
longing 
Unto my soul, for thy most precious love, 
To raise it suddenly to realms above, 
And then deliver it to one belonging 
More to the realm of Satan's world, destroying 
The fair ideal that all my life I strove 
To realize ? Oh, cause me to remove 
This spell that is no happiness employing! 

Yet who that falleth in love's meshes knoweth 
Why he hath fallen, or from whence he fell, 
Or who in truth can understand love's reason, 
Save that some joy and pain it often soweth; 
The most of which we cannot always tell, 
When they at first appear in love's sweet season. 



50 SONNETS 



HOW little comfort is there in the thought, 
Kind friends so often give love's bleeding heart 
That love's sharp pain grows less whene'er we part, 
And leave behind the prize so dearly bought! 
Yet who doth learn this lesson he hath taught, 
So that when love shall send its subtle dart 
Within his soul, he may the same impart 
Unto himself, and leave what he hath sought ? 

I know but few, among them not myself, 
Who practise this sad cure for love's disease, 
That do not bear some wound, in after years, 
More painful than love's wounding pain itself; 
Or that do find elsewhere, what doth appease 
The hunger in their souls, or dry their tears. 



SONNETS 51 



LI 

FOR each long league that bears me far from thee 
Doth seem to take life's blood from out my veins, 
As every yearning hour that passeth drains 
The spring of my affection, that might be 
O'erflowing with love's precious remedy. 
Ah me! This is a grievous fate that stains 
Love's half-possessed ambition, and remains 
To overshadow all that rests of me ! 

Loved one, I find not, as the world I roam, 
A spirit half so comforting as thine, 
Ev'n in thy moments of most wilful charm, 
None that would half so fittingly my home 
Grace with its presence, or from whose eyes shine 
A sweeter light, while giving love's alarm. 



52 SONNETS 



LII 

WHEN last I saw thee, thou wert uppermost 
In every thought that stirred my inner being, 
In every act thy presence I was seeing. 
And now thou comest to me like a ghost, 
While I receive thee as some phantom host; 
For every time I touch thee thou art fleeing 
Far from the tempest of my heart ; agreeing 
With some sad fate that happiness hath lost. 

Now, though I strive to sever from my heart 
Those elements divine that make thy love 
For me the object of my life's desire, 
There cometh that, which doth from Heaven depart, 
To lift me once again to Heaven above, 
And thus forbid that I should quench love's fire. 



SONNETS 53 



LIII 

O MIGHTY Prophet, who dost signify 
To little man the vanity of life, 
The folly of its temporary strife, 
Give to the only one who doth deny 
My love some passing sense, to gratify 
The constant longing that is ever rife 
Within my soul, and sever with a knife 
This fatal cord, my love is fettered by. 

With some such prayer to thee would I appeal, 
In impotence, to strike 'gainst nature's law, 
That causeth love unhonored still to live. 
Before thy throne now humbly do I kneel, 
As at the feet of her whom I adore, 
And pray that love to me thou still mayst give. 



54 SONNETS 



LIV 

IF thou hadst felt toward me as I to thee, 
Since the first hour that love knocked at my heart, 
And I, unwilling, opened it in part, 
Then would all Heaven's warmth have been to me 
As noon-day sun upon some tranquil sea; 
And every hour its blessing would impart 
To both our souls, that never could depart 
Till we had cast it from us willingly. 

Then why, Sweet Love, should this not still be so ? 
A great ideal perchance we both conceive, 
And striving, each in some vain way, to find, 
Lose youth's enduring treasure here below. 
Why mayst thou not, then, in thy heart perceive 
That thou art to thyself and me unkind ? 



SONNETS 55 



LV 

LIKE the soft air of summer is thy smile, 
That, lighting on my sadness, clears the air, 
To make this clouded life again seem fair, 
With all thy deft enchantments, that beguile 
The swains that follow thee for many a mile. 
But with thy sunshine I find lurking there, 
Something in thee that bringeth deep despair, 
Seeming to savor of young Cupid's wile. 

Then hath he not, mayhap, enveigled thee 
Into the mischief of his lover's net, 
And caused thee to torment thy swains anew, 
With tricks, of which thou mayst the author be ? 
'T would seem as if some love-snare he had set, 
To wreck the lives of lovers not a few. 



56 SONNETS 



LVI 

IF every song I sing seems tinged with sadness ; 
If every hour I think of thee I sigh ; 
If I for love still grieve, ask me not why 
I do not sing to-day in joy and gladness ; 
Nor tell me, if not so, that it is madness. 
For such strange action would my heart belie, 
And from my spirit ring a love-sick cry 
Against so fair a semblance of its badness. 

If reason thou wouldst have, ask thine own self 
Why thou dost keep me, in love's penury, 
Upon the desert of my great desire, 
And, like some oasis, receive myself 
At distant spaces of its memory — 
To burn my soul with an unquenched fire! 



SONNETS 57 



LVII 

LIKE the new moon, cold mistress of the heaven, 
A silver bow delightful to behold, 
Art thou, sweet maid, sweet both to young and old, 
Yet false in thy profession of love's leaven ; 
Untrue to one who, true to thee, hath striven 
(Since first thy love thou didst to him unfold) 
To keep thee from becoming chill and cold 
As the swift snows that by the winds are driven. 

At times it seemeth thou dost act a part; 
Now to deceive the depth of my life's passion ; 
Now loving as no lover did before. 
Then suddenly within my soul thou art 
Like some ideal that God alone could fashion; 
But with the moon depart to shine no more. 



58 SONNETS 



LVIII 

AH Love! Couldst thou but greet me every even, 
And let thine eyes lose those soft rays in mine ; 
Couldst thou but share with me this bread and wine, 
Or something of what God to me hath given, 
Then might I feel, that not in vain was driven 
This love-shaft in my soul ; for it would shine 
With gratitude, and round thine own entwine 
The fairest flowers that e'er were grown in Heaven. 

Had I but thee to share my pain with me, 
Pain would be joy, and joy that pain dispelled. 
Were thy dear form beside me, night and day, 
Then could I grieve no longer, but would be 
So happy, happiness would be impelled 
To change my spirit in some magic way. 



SONNETS 59 



LIX 

LOVE is not passion ; nor is passion love. 
The two are twined together in some wise. 
Love, spiritual, cometh from the skies, 
Ennobles life and lifts our thoughts above. 
Passion we find oft lurking in some grove, 
Where pleasant sights draw forth our pleasing cries, 
And where some bird of plumage round us flies, 
While we, half knowing, through the shadows rove. 

Yet, with these two, we find ourselves on earth. 
One seldom doth the other disengage. 
Strange combination of life's heaven and hell ! 
That giveth unto man his power of birth, 
And causeth him to claim his parentage 
Whenever, or where he may chance to dwell. 



6o SONNETS 



LX 

WHAT subtle fragrance, like some passion flower, 
Lurks in the petals of thy love for me, 
That seemeth every day more sweet to be, 
Thou beautiful example of the power 
That nature hath, with loveliness to shower 
Her favored ones ? I would that I might see, 
In those blue eyes that show so much of thee, 
Some deeper color, given as a dower. 

Yet ne'er lose hope, my heart. Thou shalt succeed, 
So thou persist in thy true quest, until 
All barriers opposing thee do fall. 
Ah, then in vain no longer shalt thou plead ! 
But of love's welcome draft drink to thy fill, 
And, in that hour, know life doth give thee all. 



SONNETS 61 



LXI 

UNTO the sea my love I would compare, 
That shineth first beneath the morning sun, 
And danceth with its beams, as if for fun. 
Then as the clouds would turn them to despair, 
The beams soon disappear upon the air, 
Like fairy jewels, that away would run. 
Then, as their beauty doth its surface shun, 
It heaves as if it doth some sorrow share. 

Far down the sea of mine own love doth sink; 
But, soon returning on itself, a wave 
Of real emotion rolleth o'er my heart; 
And all that thou hast been to me, I think, 
Is like some treasure I must strive to save, 
And guard thee well, so thou canst ne'er depart. 



62 SONNETS 



LXII 

THERE is a lovely avenue of trees, 
That winds its way o'er many a meadow-land, 
And leads in time to the salt sea and sand, 
Where I have walked and felt the summer breeze 
Waft the sweet air that fans with perfect ease 
The trembling leaves, the ferns on every hand; 
A place wherein might sport some fairy band, 
And in their gaiety my fancy seize. 

In some such place would I find love awaiting, 
Ready to guide me by the trickling brooks, 
And lead me to some soft and rustic lair. 
With thee, my well-beloved, would I be mating 
(Like birds in springtime 'neath the shaded nooks), 
The vision of thy love to my despair ! 



SONNETS 63 



LXIII 

UPON the highland spaces greet me, Love, 
And with the fir and hemlock all around thee, 
Twine thy fair self about my soul, and be 
Therein the wood-nymph of my rustic grove. 
Now dost thou fly towards me like some sweet dove, 
Lighting from branch to branch, and willingly, 
A group of blossoms bringing unto me 
From the ethereal atmosphere above. 

'T is in the air of nature then that we 
Find through its simple pleasure love's delight, 
Free from the turmoil that doth find its birth 
In following the paths that others see. 
Then would the stars illuminate the night, 
And turn to Heaven the very things of earth. 



64 SONNETS 



LXIV 

WHEN the red sun sinks toward the western line. 
That separates our vision of the sky, 
And each soft ray far from the earth would fly, 
To touch the clouds above the salt sea-brine 
With magic tones and colors half divine ; 
Then doth my soul seek thine alone, and try 
These tears of disappointed love to dry, 
Imagining that life on me doth shine. 

Then in the clouds, o'er Love's blue sky, reflecting 
The golden radiance of thyself, I see 
Some likeness to the blood-stains on my heart, 
That thou hast pierced and wounded, while rejecting 
The sunbeams of my spirit, given to thee, 
That hold thy glory, even as we part. 



SONNETS 65 



LXV 

WHENEVER thou dost let a passing thought 
Inhabit the domain of my desire, 
I wonder just how thou mayst then inquire 
Within thy heart, as yet untouched though sought, 
How great love's sacrifice, to have been brought 
So strangely to thy life, and set on lire 
The soul of one who doth thine own admire, 
Although thou givest in return but nought. 

Were it but given to thine eye to see 
The splendor of love's passion in its prime, 
Burning upon the rock of thine own being, 
Nature might then increase her power in thee, 
And thou might'st find a summit here to climb, 
That would eclipse all objects thou art seeing. 



66 SONNETS 



LXVI 

IF in the years to come life bringeth thee 
Some of love's sorrow, to carry in thine hand ; 
If thou shouldst thus experience it, and 
By its strange weight, be forced to think and see 
What youth casts from it in its extasy; 
Then only couldst thou learn to understand 
How suffering hath held me in its band, 
Since I first found how cruel love could be. 

Ah me ! Though by this means thou mightest come 
To know the value of love's equipage, 
And in its chariot ride toward my soul, 
I would not wish that thou shouldst know, as some 
Like me have known, from youth to hoary age, 
The price they pay to reach so dear a goal. 



SONNETS 67 



LXVII 

OH ! when the cold, fleet-footed hour of dawn 
Awaketh me once more to consciousness, 
My first thought is of thee, but with distress ; 
And every thought that followeth (from morn, 
Till night her robe of darkness 'round hath drawn) 
Is still of thee, of thee I do confess, 
Clothed in sweet love's most tantalizing dress; 
Yet of love's satisfaction stripped and shorn ! 

Then doth each hour in withered hope pass by, 
Each day and week and month seem endless death. 
And when thou answerest not my call to thee, 
I watch, till hope dead in my heart doth lie; 
For it would seem some evil spirit saith, 
That I forever in love's hell must be. 



68 SONNETS 



LXVIII 

IF, when thou hast found out that life is sorrow, 
More frequent than youth's careless jollity, 
And when thou pay'st its bitter penalty, 
And on thy cheek Time draweth his deep furrow, 
Perchance thine own experience may borrow 
From mine some of love's rare humility. 
Then be not in that hour at enmity 
With all that is most worthy of the morrow. 
For so hath haughty youth in age to bow, 
And unto life do homage for its power, 
And grovel in great shame when it doth find 
Its fancied value Time doth not allow, 
Ah! then mayst thou not pluck so false a flower; 
Nor say, "To me love hath been so unkind!" 



SONNETS 69 



LXIX 

WITH what despair thou hast inspired my muse 
In these sad lines, my muse alone can tell. 
For were I to describe to thee the spell 
Thine eye hath cast upon me, thou wouldst choose 
The power of raillery that thou dost use, 
To shatter thoughts, my spirit would not sell 
For those, far greater, which the poets foretell, 
Oft in their verse Love's magic doth infuse. 
But all that I hold now within my realm 
Of art is thee, that art thy power alone, 
To make my lines reflect the hours of spring; 
Or yet again with sadness overwhelm. 
For when thy heart seems graven, as in stone, 
My holiest thoughts to earth their hopes would fling 



7 o SONNETS 



LXX 

HOW sweet to me are these soft days of spring; 
But how much sweeter, did thy beauty bear, 
Like cherry blossoms o'er the flowering air, 
Its scented fragrance to me; and did bring 
Some songs of love, like birds upon the wing, 
To tell me that my love, with thine, might share 
These lovers' hours, that in the spring appear, 
And o'er the earth their efflorescence fling. 

Ah, Love ! thy winter's waiting hath well-nigh 
This heart of mine, for love of thee, so broken, 
That it hath scarce the power to beat to-day. 
'T were time, indeed, to compensate my sigh 
At last with Love's unutterable token, 
That shall not with the seasons fade away. 



SONNETS 71 



LXXI 

THOU earnest unto me last eventide, 
When the dull pain of absence had well-nigh 
Made life for me one long-continued sigh, 
And given me but little hope to hide 
The hideous thought, that never to my side 
Wouldst thou again spontaneously fly. 
Still, some o'erpowering contact bid me try. 
And lo! success my efforts did betide. 

Oh ! rapture to my soul, more sweet to me 
Than glories to the conqueror of a nation ! 
Behold my dry heart, moistened at the sound 
Of thy dear voice — none dearer could there be — 
And my sad soul, once more within love's station, 
As thy fair form doth twine my heart around! 



72 SONNETS 



LXXII 

YET now I cannot with impunity 
Receive the gilded pleasure of thy love. 
God knoweth with what zeal for it I strove. 
But when I feel love's sweet community, 
It bringeth to me the lost unity — 
The loneliness, when I no longer have 
Near me thy spirit sent me from above, 
To test through pain my soul's immunity. 

Then, though this cup of joy be mixed with sorrow, 
Once more must I drink of its poisoned draft, 
Whilst praying unto God to purify, 
With thy return of love to me, the morrow, 
That holds the price of that which I have quaffed ; 
And for all time my spirit satisfy. 



SONNETS 73 



LXXIII 

WHILE thou art near to me, my spirit's bride 
Art thou. No mortal can possess thee now, 
Loved inspiration of my life ! I trow 
Thou lovest me while we are side by side. 
No sorrow surely will this eve betide. 
Love's heaven only our two hearts shall know, 
And for one hour leave life gladly so, 
As o'er the surface of love's lake we glide. 

Ah, loved one! An emotion my heart swelleth, 
Even as I worship at thy sacred shrine, 
Which is the noblest life hath brought to me; 
So great, so holy, that no pen e'er telleth, 
Till God hath given man a sight of thee, 
And shown him one who seemeth half divine ! 



74 SONNETS 



LXXIV 

WHILE I gaze in thy dancing eyes, I seem 
Unable to imagine that thou art 
So cruel as deep sorrow to impart 
To one who holds thee in love's high esteem. 
Who, from thy face, so like a child's, could dream 
That such sweet loveliness did often start 
In men love's worship, only to depart, 
And leave them sinking in life's treach'rous stream ? 

Yet such thou art, in character, my love, 
Thou to whom I must dedicate my life, 
Praying to God that He may still give thee 
Some understanding of His realm above, 
And make thee willing to become my wife, 
Remaining in complete accord with me. 



SONNETS 75 



LXXV 

IN springtime, when pale primroses in flower, 
Oft interspersed with blue forget-me-nots, 
Are all in bloom, and the wild violet dots 
The mossy field, while many a floral shower 
Of new-mown hay falls in some shady bower, 
Then my own heart doth, like new garden-plots, 
Warm with the sun, that unto love allots 
A portion of contentment as its dower. 

Thus in thy haloed presence let me sing, 
Lightheartedly, with thy dear hand in mine, 
Through many a waving, daisy-scattered field, 
Where summer doth succeed the reign of spring. 
And let mine arm thy being half entwine 
With roses, or whate'er the seasons yield. 



76 SONNETS 



LXXVI 

WITH every day that summer doth conceive 
(Like some good mother, happily confined) 
My love its simple homily doth find 
In nature's soft rejoicing, and receive 
From winter's sorrowing a just reprieve, 
And think on thee with joy and pain combined, 
When thou art absent, and of thy free mind 
Return my sentiment, I do believe. 

A sweet condition to my soul is this, 
Bringing the blessedness of love from thee, 
Commingling with my own long-felt desire ; 
And giving something of thyself to me. 
Ah, seal this thought with one delicious kiss ; 
And let my heart to happiness aspire! 



SONNETS 77 



LXXVII 

I KNOW a path of velvet green, that sinks 
From a fair hillside, underneath the trees 
That blossom forth in May, and with the breeze 
Shed scented flowers, all lined with summer pinks 
That border it in petal-covered links. 
It seems a fairy lane, well fit to please 
Some lover's fancy, as the mood doth seize 
The heart and lead in time to wat'ry brinks. 

There with thee, Loved One, I would gladly stray ; 
And wander o'er these grassy slopes, to find 
Saint Dorothy's ascent to Paradise, 
Uplifting, while ascending on our way 
To saintly bowers, among the woods enshrined, 
Where magic scenes our noblest thoughts entice. 



78 SONNETS 



LXXVIII 

NO time could hold my heart more fit than this, 
The vernal month, when summer's early hours, 
Fanned by faint odors from the newborn flowers, 
Bespeak thyself, the thief of my heart's bliss, 
And on thy cheek imprint the tender kiss 
That bringeth love within young Cupid's bowers. 
Thus would thy magic touch, with subtle powers, 
Bring to my soul some metamorphosis. 

No more repine, O heart ! No longer weep. 
No more heave sighs, or, sighing, be cast down. 
Nature her balm of sunshine bringeth thee, 
That in its warmth thou shalt her treasure keep. 
Let not my brow be shadowed by a frown; 
For love at last walks hand in hand with me. 



SONNETS 79 



LXXIX 

NOW love returneth with new grace to me; 
For why not so, since thou dost come again, 
And bring fresh flowers of thought upon thy train, 
That cause my spirit thus in heaven to be ? 
Ah ! Couldst thou then but understand and see 
What holier joys the heart, the soul contain, 
Than thy poor sense of fleeting flesh could fain, 
Thou mightest know love to eternity. 
For as I would endeavor to possess 
The fulness of love's wonderful attire, 
The knowledge of thy spirit is more sweet, 
For me to hold as mine, than that light dress 
Encircling it, though filled with beauty's fire : 
Thy lovely form, with every charm replete. 



8o SONNETS 



LXXX 

THOUGH summer showers drown the seeds of 
love, 
And flood the garden where its blossoms bloom ; 
Though fiery suns do dry the yellow broom 
Upon the bank, and parch the field above; 
Though autumn's frost shall nip the flowery grove, 
And winter's snow kill life in nature's womb; 
Though men grow gray, and, tottering, reach the tomb, 
And all else die, and life no longer have : 

Yet will I guard thee in my bosom, dear, 
And seek to gain thy spirit for my own. 
For no such prize hath nature to bestow 
That could so well disperse the shadow drear, 
Or offer to this heart, that ne'er hath grown 
Accustomed life without some love to know. 



SONNETS 



LXXXI 

LIKE columbine in May, or rose in June, 
Like meadow flower, or clover in the morn, 
All moist with early dew, that laughs to scorn 
The sunbeam that destroyeth it at noon; 
Like scented lavender or rue, that soon 
Doth usher in the flow' ring ears of corn, 
To wave in glory, ere the wind hath torn 
Their emerald leaves, beneath the harvest moon : 

Like this whole pageant of the season's time, 
With all its glories rolled into one, 
Art thou : the fairest treasure nature bringeth, 
Through every year and every age sublime : 
For in thine eyes the radiance of the sun 
Could warm each flower and every bird that wingeth. 



82 SONNETS 



LXXXII 

COLD heart, that hath not felt some passing pain; 
Some aching or desire to be together; 
To wander hand in hand through heath or heather; 
Or something that doth move the simple swain! 
Were there not some possession thus to gain 
Of love, or lover's wint'ry gale to weather, 
As we do follow life, I know not whether 
*T would be not best from living to abstain. 

Then dead is he who hath not felt this joy, 
This joy and sorrow mingled in his soul; 
To seek for love, and feel its kindling flame, 
That doth old age and youth at once annoy, 
Yet holy treasures toward their threshold roll ; 
For lovers' tears and smiles are oft the same. 



SONNETS 83 



LXXXIII 

WHEN thou, dear one, hast lived as long as I, 
And seen the world give treasures unto youth 
(Like some swift river, rushing to its mouth), 
And drunk the cup of worldly pleasure dry, 
And felt enjoyment passing with a sigh, 
And in the night seen goblins all uncouth 
Dance round the corse of pleasure, dead in truth, 
And in thine heart is echoed sorrow's cry: 

Then mayst thou come, with me, Love, to believe 
That better than all else, is to obtain 
The heart's affection of one single being, 
That unto thee like adamant may cleave; 
And lighten on its way life's palsied pain; 
So that love's heaven thou art alway seeing. 



84 SONNETS 



LXXXIV 

STRANGE law, whose reason man doth not pos- 
sess, 
That underlieth every age and clime, 
That every human bosom must sometime 
Its presence and its influence confess! 
Whether in youth's own gay and careless dress, 
Or when old age doth feel the weight of Time, 
Or art describe, or poet paint with rhyme, 
Or warrior bold, or maiden in distress : 

This law of love its course must e'er pursue, 
And join two spirits in eternal bliss; 
Or each torment, with unresponsive thought, 
One loving, one love wishing to undo. 
Oh ! may I not find love with thee like this, 
But still obtain what I so long have sought! 



SONNETS 85 



LXXXV 

FROM Thee, Eternal Power, came my life, 
And by Thee was love born within my soul. 
Since I have felt Time and the hours toll, 
And have experienced my heart at strife, 
And felt it severed oft, as with a knife, 
I must with one good thought myself console. 
For since I may not consummate the whole, 
Nor reach the fulness of love when 't is ripe ; 

Then ne'ertheless have I account to give 
When, unfulfilled in happiness, my days 
In number cease and I on high must go, 
To render unto Thee the life I live. 
So be it then, that in these passing lays 
I prove not faithless to the things I know. 



86 SONNETS 



LXXXVI 

MY hope had been, that I might find in thee 
The soul's ideal, as my love's recompense, 
That Heaven her fairest flowers might dispense, 
In prodigal profusion unto me. 
But with Reality's cold eyes I see 
How different doth fate, in truth, compense 
The disappointment of love's blighted sense; 
And turn to rhymes the hope that cannot be. 

Oh, if thou shouldst outlive my broken heart, 
And in compassion see thy lover dead, 
And once behold on earth his crumbling bones, 
Thou wouldst find in these living lines a part 
Of what thou hast flung from thee, and must read 
Love's epitaph upon the moss-grown stones. 



SONNETS 87 



LXXXVII 

GOD, through his offspring Nature, gave me love, 
Though man in opposition saith me nay, 
And taketh from my heart its life to-day, 
As through the valley of the world I rove. 
Still unaccompanied, within the grove 
That doth enamored beings hold at play, 
My spirit must pursue its lonely way, 
And strive to pluck some flowers that bloom above. 

Oh, wherefore then doth Nature give desire 
To have that which mankind may not possess, 
And force him to endure on earth hell's fire, 
And live in one perpetual distress ? 
Some evil power must such love inspire, 
And with it masquerade in Cupid's dress! 



88 SONNETS 



LXXXVIII 

WITH some, the law of love doth work at ease 
To some it doth seem oft to make amends. 
To some the power of giving birth it sends ; 
To others the dull pain of a disease. 
And yet how few this passion seems to please. 
At first its force to extasy it lends, 
Then deep into the depth of grief descends, 
And on the beauty of the soul doth seize. 

Yet, on the whole love is a mad possession, 
Taking from men the peacefulness of life, 
Bewild'ring warfare, with the heart's obsession, 
That turneth Heaven into ceaseless strife, 
Now seeking love's increase, now its repression, 
Until the maid be merged into the wife. 



SONNETS 89 



LXXXIX 

LET not the measure of my love make thine 
Aught else but as it should be, true and sweet, 
Fair youth, who first thy sweetheart's eye shall meet, 
Though thou mayst read the tragedy of mine. 
Oh, in thy heart make ready Cupid's shrine. 
Prepare thy lips, that shall thy mistress greet, 
For kisses that denial may defeat, 
And on Love's altar pour Love's sacred wine. 

Let myrtle crown thy brow, lest, like my fate, 
Thou mayst find poison mingled in thy veins. 
Make lasting thine embrace, ere 't is too late, 
And worms creep in, and mould leave deathly stains. 
Then may youth's sunshine warm thy chosen mate ; 
For nought so sweet as love through life remains. 



go SONNETS 



XC 

ALL else may die : the leaves that Nature bore 
In springtime soon may hear the autumn's knell, 
And men likewise feel death's o'erpowering spell; 
Ripe youth may fall, and age in time grow hoar; 
The moon doth wane, the sun sink from the shore; 
Fresh flowers fade, and lose their sweetest smell; 
Birds and their songs may vanish in the dell, 
And crumbling stones of cities be no more. 

Still shall my love, like love eternal, be 
Untouched by time; yet chastened by despair, 
And treasured in my heart, as all may see, 
Who would likewise their own true love declare. 
Thus in my soul, dear heart, would I hold thee 
Till God love's injury at last repair. 



SONNETS 91 



XCI 

OTHOU, fair youth, to whom the gods have given 
The gift of beauty and the power of love, 
Forget not that which cometh from above, 
And that affection is the child of Heaven. 
Remember in these lines, that I have striven 
To make thee honest, when, through Cupid's grove 
Thou dost with some fair maiden lightly rove, 
Not caring by what passion she be driven. 

For what thou hast thou holdest but in trust, 
Account of which thou must give when thou diest : 
To honor those, though thou mayst love them not, 
Who love thy soul, when flesh may turn to dust. 
For if to honor love thou rightly triest, 
Thy name shall live on earth without a blot. 



92 SONNETS 



XCII 

BELIEVE not, gentle maid, that all is won 
When first thou dost behold thy lover dear; 
Nor yet that all thy path lies fair and clear 
From love's first charm until its work be done. 
A fickle child thou comest thereupon, 
Whom thou mayst learn in time to view with fear. 
Cupid, though young, may cast a shadow drear, 
Whose chilling gloom shall hide thee from the sun. 

A lovely valley may thy footsteps lure, 
All filled with flowers that for the fair are grown, 
Yet 'neath its depth lie pitfalls for the pure, 
And deep contagions that are oft unknown. 
Then happy art thou if thou holdst love sure, 
Thus to escape the menace of his frown. 



SONNETS 93 



XCIII 

LOVE heeds not time, nor space, nor form, nor woe, 
The seasons, slain by Cupid's arrows, fade 
Like misty spectres; and the night, remade, 
Gives place once more to day's unceasing show. 
The past gave joy; the future pain must know. 
Reflection of itself makes love, 't is said, 
Mirror the beauty of its thought, repaid 
A thousand times to lovers when they go. 

For which is most, experience or thought ? 
Anticipation or sweet memory ? 
The preparation for what love once brought ; 
Or last, the dwelling on delight passed by ? 
All these love still commands, through battles fought 
With passion, lust, desire, and life's stern cry. 



94 SONNETS 



XCIV 

HAPPY my heart, and happier far was I, 
When ignorant of love's entanglement ; 
When I knew not its art or blandishment, 
And fearless passed young Cupid lightly by. 
Oh, happy hour! How vainly do I try 
To now regain my freedom, and repent 
The days, the hours, the years that have been spent 
In giving birth to an unanswered cry! 

No. Not in the review of my life's sin 
Have I found punishment, or court, or trial, 
Or sentence of mankind, or prison wherein 
I might drink drops of poison from a phial, 
Or retribution that could half begin 
To be so bitter as love's cold denial. 



SONNETS 95 



XCV 

STRIVE as I would to banish from my mind 
The witchery that thy fair presence giveth, 
I cannot kill the flower of love that liveth, 
By that same witchery, or leave behind 
The subtle fragrance that doth still remind 
My soul of one whose song forever singeth, 
Like some inhabitant of air that wingeth 
Above those treasures that on earth we find. 

For it is oft — as I indeed am now — 
With those who trample love beneath the heart. 
The more they seek to kill, or lay it low, 
The more it liveth with new-fashioned art, 
That causeth it, unwelcomed, still to grow, 
And thus deny that from it they shall part. 



96 SONNETS 



XCVI 

SINCE on thy form hath beauty laid its hand, 
And set its snare for thee and me likewise, 
Yet taught thee the Soul's beauty to despise ; 
And given thee no power to understand 
The reason or the influence that planned 
The depth of life, yet still to temporize ; 
How is such wanton thought to harmonize 
With love's fierce fire by my strong passion fanned ? 

O ! Waste not then thy beauty in its youth ; 
But turn it to account, lest thine own end 
Shall find thee, left without an hair or tooth, 
All stripped of nature's charm, which now may lend 
Its power, for thee to reproduce the truth 
Of that same beauty thou wouldst lightly spend. 



SONNETS 97 



XCVII 

IN those brief moments when thou wert my own, 
I drank a poison deadlier to my heart 
Than that which toucheth every vital part, 
And causeth man to tremble and to moan 
Until the seeds of death be fairly sown, 
And he in palsied attitude doth start 
To rise, before his spirit shall depart, 
And utter on this earth its final groan. 

That poison was love's undisguised belief 
That I had found eternal happiness, 
True freedom from all ill, and true relief 
From weary waiting and from loneliness. 
Ah! Cruel fate! Thou gavest but new grief, 
When I believed that Heaven my life would bless! 



98 SONNETS 



XCVIII 

LET not thy beauty serve thee in the guise 
Of some dark power, as it hath in the past. 
Make for thyself some beauty that may last, 
And for thy friends some gratitude likewise. 
Best that they should applaud thee to the skies, 
Than in old age thou shouldst aside be cast, 
And when thou diest be but death's repast: 
Nought but cold clay (from which the soul should rise). 

Forget not that thy flesh must soon expire, 
And thy youth's veil from off thy face be torn. 
Then must thou from deception soon retire, 
When outward beauty is by time outworn. 
Oh ! I would see thy soul by love reborn : 
Thou for thyself; I for my heart's desire. 



SONNETS 99 



XCIX 

WHEN I alone unto my chamber go, 
To fold the shroud of night about my heart, 
And mourn an empty day that doth depart; 
And with sad thought compose my spirit so; 
There cometh to me the dear form I know; 
And, conjured with imagination's art, 
It bringeth thee, so living, that I start; 
And my glad tears upon thy bosom flow. 

But oh, for shame ! That not thyself entire 
Be mine, as thou shouldst be, instead of this! 
On earth both flesh and spirit hold empire, 
Wherein is man the vassal of a kiss. 
Yet nature must I thank, as I retire, 
That though I hold thee not I know thy bliss. 



ioo SONNETS 



WHEN all the world would smile in summer 
time, 
And bear the train of nature's equipage ; 
And love appeareth, as an appanage, 
To make each lover's atmosphere sublime; 
Then would I take this pen and form a rhyme, 
That singeth of my three years' vassalage 
(Still held in love's unwilling peonage), 
That doth my spirit and my heart begrime. 

For how could love exalt, which hath, for long, 
Reduced me to so destitute a state 
That through each winter I must nurse my wrong, 
Until each spring shall bring thee, all too late ? 
And when the summer cometh, my sad song 
Is only to deplore that I must wait. 



SONNETS 101 



CI 

A LITTLE flower in my garden groweth. 
"Love-in-a-mist" is given as its name. 
Another, of blood hue, beside the same, 
Doth droop and fall upon the wind that bloweth. 
This is the "bleeding heart." Like mine, it knoweth 
The tragic reason for its early fame, 
By some sad chance, upon the earth it came; 
But soon, though full of bloom, asleep it goeth. 
Two emblems have I in these garden flowers. 
"Love-in-a-mist" thou must be still for me, 
Deep hidden in love's own mysterious bowers, 
Where, all uncertain, I can scarcely see. 
Yet from my "bleeding heart" I gain new powers, 
Though trampled under foot and crushed by thee. 



102 SONNETS 



CII 



MY love makes of my life a sad display; 
All full of good desires within me born, 
Like youthful verdure in the early morn; 
Yet by its mischief ruining each day. 
No more have I the courage that shall say: 
"From such poor revenue let me be torn, 
Lest my life's high estate be basely shorn, 
And I no longer have wherewith to pay." 

No! still I hold to thy heart's company, 
That would but seldom grant what I may use, 
Not knowing by what power thou holdest me ; 
Yet giving all; that all must still refuse; 
Unless this line be writ upon the sky, 
And bring eternal life to this my muse. 



SONNETS 103 



cm 

IF in thyself doth all my love reside ; 
And thou, the storehouse of love's revenue, 
Holdest my happiness in full review; 
In thy dear eyes lies pain for me beside. 
Upon my heart thou ruthlessly dost ride, 
Grown callous to entreaty made anew. 
Though without hope that kindness may ensue, 
Let my blood flow to satisfy thy pride. 

Strange cruelty, enforced by Nature's child ! 
Thou, friendly in thy feeling, but grown cold; 
I, burned with Cupid's fire and beguiled; 
Thou fearful, I the more by thee made bold ; 
Thou, longing to be free, untamed and wild ; 
I, young with love, though by its pain grown old. 



io 4 SONNETS 



CIV 

THOUGH my true love should be my own un- 
doing, 
In leading me where wisdom may disprove, 
Yet would I choose, in spite of all, to love, 
So I might have the triumph of thy wooing. 
Then might I feel that youth I were renewing; 
My heart's sad livery for once remove; 
And I might ride through avenues above 
The common path that life hath been pursuing. 

For nought could equal love, my love, with thee; 
Nor could I ever tire of thy praise, 
If thou all that I wish wouldst be to me, 
And my soul unto Heaven wouldst upraise. 
Since in love's season lovers all agree, 
Then give me back what I lose in thy gaze. 



SONNETS 105 



T 



cv 

HOUGH thou shouldst not perceive how love in 
me 

Doth play such havoc with my interest, 
That I am, as with penury, distrest; 
All torn by tragic thought and agony; 
Though thou mayst think it be no harm to see 
Thy lover with love's wound upon his breast, 
Think not that by denying him 't is best 
To foster for thyself life's harmony. 

For though thou mayst deceive thy heart and mine, 
Posterity, by me, thy soul laid bare, 
Shall read the truth within this written line, 
And judge if in thy love thou hast been fair. 
All is, eternal honor may be thine, 
So thou prove not my muse and my despair. 



io6 SONNETS 



CVI 

TO thee all life is but a passing pleasure, 
No deeper than the thought within thy mind 
And thy short love is of a lighter kind 
Than that which bringeth to my heart its measure. 
How wanton is thy waste of so great treasure ! 
And oh, how little value dost thou find! 
How vacant is thy vision, and how blind ! 
How empty is thy work, how vain thy leisure ! 

Let all thy faults foregather on that day, 
When Love shall touch thee with his magic wand, 
And thou at last unto thyself shall say 
Thy breast is wounded, but thy heart is fond. 
Yet shall I love thy spirit, come what may, 
Though thou be old, and I be far beyond. 



SONNETS 107 



CVII 

NOT clothed in transient beauty nor pale health. 
Like the night-blooming flower, that displays 
Its fullest glory when the violet rays 
Of sunlight vanish, and, as if by stealth, 
The sable realm of night, the commonwealth 
Of all deceiving things, appears and stays, 
Till day doth swift disperse its tricks and plays : 
Not such art thou, endowed with nature's wealth. 
But on thy cheek the peach-blush of the sun 
Blends with the russet touch of summer's hand; 
And in thine eye, fresh youth, that fades not soon, 
Lives in perpetual triumph, that is won 
From country joys, waving their magic wand 
Beneath the sunlit skies or silvery moon. 



io8 SONNETS 



CVIII 

NO mind have I to tell thee all thou art, 
Yet giving half, how can I keep the rest, 
Since, knowing all, I see both worst and best, 
And may not then in truth withhold a part ? 
Thy worst is like love's dagger to my heart; 
Like Satan, in angelic vestment drest, 
That bringeth pain disguised into my breast. 
Such is thy worst. Let me thy best impart. 

Thy best is all thyself, thy beauty's charm, 
Thy glance, thy smile, thy youth's fair consciousness, 
Thy power to endear, to twine thine arm 
With subtle grace about love's deep distress. 
Still, be it worst or best, thou dost me harm, 
Though bringing pleasure with thy soft caress. 



SONNETS 109 



CIX 

OH, Love doth play such wanton tricks with men, 
That all their frailty is at once revealed, 
However much they wish it were concealed ; 
For common wisdom lies beyond their ken. 
Like some slain victim toward a lion's den, 
So are they led, when once to love they yield. 
The warrior tamed lays by his trusted shield; 
The youth, his youth ; old age its reason then. 

In each condition is mankind disturbed, 
Played false, or in unguarded mood surprised, 
Made mad by overjoy, or else perturbed 
Through sudden fear that love must be disguised. 
By some such thought my love alone is curbed, 
The which, I trow, thou hast ere now surmised. 



no SONNETS 



CX 

NOT all the years of my uncounted pain 
Could teach me wisdom to myself and thee; 
So I still love, and thou still holdest me ; 
Nor all the torture of thy fair disdain 
Wring from thy lips confession, or attain 
The height of misery that love must be 
When, unexpressed, itself it may not free 
From silent thought, or find some speech again. 

Yet love, though long unkind, hath taught me this, 
That I may find expression on its page; 
Though not the record of its perfect bliss, 
Yet, something of its value to mine age, 
Mixed with poison from the fatal kiss 
That love still bringeth in its equipage. 



SONNETS in 



CXI 

AT least thou canst not say I have not loved, 
Make accusation fit time's test of me. 
Bring all thy grievance to love's court, and see 
How truly my devotion hath been proved, 
And what high motive hath my spirit moved. 
Bring all the powers to bear that lie in thee. 
At least thou canst not claim inconstancy 
As comrade to that love by thee disproved. 
For this sad company my soul hath still, 
That is alike companion to my thought, 
Precursor of my fate and fate's dark will ; 
My mendicant desire that thou be brought 
Into my life, my empty heart to fill, 
And there remain; my own and dearly sought. 



ii2 SONNETS 



CXII 

OFTEN do I in meditation dream 
That in my garden thou art, with my flowers : 
To watch with me the foxglove, as it towers 
High o'er the feathery fern above the stream. 
The waving corn-flower catcheth the sun's gleam. 
The yellow poppies, born in summer hours, 
Now bloomed, shed all their seeds in tiny showers, 
And nature in a lovely mood would seem. 

So thou, in my imagination, art. 
And 'neath the azured canopy of heaven, 
We twain, like children, each do play a part; 
Now, by the sun, beneath love's bower driven; 
Now, by some winged creature, caused to start 
And leave the goal for which we both have striven. 



SONNETS 113 



CXIII 

IF thou who readst this verse do find herein 
More tragedy than joyous thought exprest, 
Oh, marvel not, that grief should not be drest 
By me, in bright array, to cloak my sin. 
My sin is love, love which I may not win ; 
And by this fact is my heart overprest 
With weight of sorrow, and my soul distrest, 
That I must end where others do begin. 

So, if thou seekest to find within this line 
Enjoyment of a jest, pray put it by. 
'T is simply for love's elegy to twine 
A wreath of myrtle with a lover's sigh. 
For if this verse were gay, 't would not be mine, 
Since lacking of my true love's love am I. 



ii4 SONNETS 



CXIV 

YET ne'ertheless would I make holiday; 
Exchange love's martyrdom; be light of heart; 
Take note of others who enjoy love's art ; 
Make measurable sport of what I may; 
Seek men and women who are blithe and gay; 
Forget the past and love's more cruel mart, 
Wherein doth sorrow play so large a part; 
And mirror life in a more mirthful way. 

Oh ! that I might be now the youth I was, 
Before love's mastery enslaved my soul: 
Free in my fancy, free from life's stern laws, 
When love of life alone was my heart's goal. 
Then hath it need of holiday, because 
For long it heareth nightly love's dirge toll. 



SONNETS 115 



CXV 

OH! well have I examined my defect, 
And all my faults and follies, yet anew 
(Knowing, alas, too well, they be not few), 
And marshalled them, that I may thus detect, 
Which fault or folly love doth not protect, 
And which would separate my heart from you. 
From some like cause 't would seem you must eschew 
This proffered courtship, and my love reject. 
Then tell me, dear, the which I do adjure 
Your honor and your honesty to name. 
For 't is my right, while my love doth endure, 
To ask if fault or scandal shall proclaim 
Its untoward presence, and your thought allure. 
For lies should not kill love, nor hurt my fame. 



n6 SONNETS 



CXVI 

OH ! what a thought hath filled my brain this night, 
And burned my fevered brow, as I suspect 
That all these years, the love thou didst reject 
Was, through strange chance, belittled in thy sight 
By some foul slander or some worldly wight. 
Methinks some poisonous tongue doth intersect 
Both love and friendship, and its shade reflect 
Unseen upon me, like some evil sprite. 

What *s this, that with a start I do behold, 
As darkness cloaks me round in cold embrace ? 
Some goblin, born of fear, by fear made bold ? 
Some lie that lives, yet dares not show its face ? 
Some tale that knows 't is false as soon as told ? 
Such company my love doth poorly grace. 



SONNETS 117 



CXVII 

AND with the morn, though sunrise shall disperse 
Those phantoms that dark hours oft have sought, 
The spectral visage of some midnight thought 
Doth still unite its poison to my verse. 
In truth, suspicion makes a cruel nurse, 
A poor companion, that the world hath brought 
To tend the soul when, ill and overwrought, 
It reaches by such means a stage still worse. 
Let not my life, then, kill this tree of love, 
Nor canker-worm destroy its fresh green leaf, 
Nor moth devour its foliage from above; 
So that its ruin shatter my belief 
In love's ideal and Cupid's vernal grove. 
For love that doth prove false must die of grief. 



n8 SONNETS 



CXVIII 

NOT every prince, nor king, nor emperor liveth, 
After his years upon this earth pass by; 
Not every painter's brush, nor poet's sigh 
Bringeth to the world the passion that it giveth; 
Not every sculptor's chiselled stone outliveth 
The fell destruction of time's tenancy; 
Nor men thought great, nor man's inconstancy, 
Commit the sins that life's last court forgiveth, 
Not such as these form that immortal band, 
Whose names adorn the temples of past ages. 
Nay, those decreed by nature to withstand 
The deep emotions written o'er life's pages. 
Their thoughts with all mankind go hand in hand, 
Their loves make one with genius and the sages. 



SONNETS 119 



CXIX 

HOW shall I all thy virtues here recount, 
Dear one, within the limit of this line ; 
Or round thy brow a wreath of roses twine, 
To mark the passage of the years we mount; 
Or how, in this short verse, describe the fount 
Of love, within my heart, that is all thine ? 
Within thy soul's retreat a light doth shine, 
That maketh my return of poor account. 

Then of my homage take what is thy due, 
That which is mine to give, and free the giving. 
For all I have is now derived from you, 
The best of all that maketh life worth living : 
A gift of nature, given unto few, 
Though, when received, a cause for their thanksgiving. 



120 SONNETS 



CXX 

TIS strange, how little doth the world perceive 
The interchange of thought 'twixt thee and me ; 
And how far distant from the truth it be 
When, guessing of my love, it doth deceive 
Itself and others, and some tale conceive 
That hath no setting for my heart or thee. 
Then happy are we that it doth not see 
Beyond the false report it would receive. 

So thou, sweet one, unmarried to my love 
That all these years hath sought thee near at hand, 
And seen thee bud and flower, as I strove 
To wait till Cupid touch thee with his wand; 
So thou, upon some pedestal above, 
Locked in the secret of my heart shall stand. 



SONNETS 121 



( 



CXXI 

THAT which we have we value not to-day, 
Yet when 't is gone its absence we deplore. 
If fortune flieth and be ours no more, 
Its trail of sorrow passeth on our way, 
If by infirmity we cease to play 
Those truant games that childhood doth adore, 
Then are we all anxiety therefore; 
Since many long for youth when they grow gray. 
So thou, who hast not felt love's fiercest pain, 
And all unconscious cast my love aside, 
Mayst wake to knowledge, and would love regain 
When I no longer on this earth reside, 
Remembered by my love, that shall remain; 
But thou, for killing me with thy false pride. 



122 SONNETS 



CXXII 

OH, chide me not, if in this life I make 
Poor tillage of the soil that men do plough; 
And hold me not transgressor, if I now 
Of this world's order would not so partake. 
Love's harvester am I, my love at stake, 
And by lost love my thought, it seems, must grow. 
While others happy issue from it know, 
My soul may not produce till my heart break. 

Then plough, sad spirit, o'er the cheerless morrow, 
And though thy husbandry be but a line, 
Know that its fruit, born like a child of sorrow, 
May bear thy likeness, and be thy life's sign 
In after years, so that the world shall borrow 
Some portion of the love that once was thine. 



SONNETS 123 



CXXIII 

IF thou wert chained by the bans of life, 
And wedded to another, as thy lord, 
I well might pierce this heart as with a sword, 
And leave to love the virtue of a wife. 
But since thou holdest, by love's hand, a knife, 
Made sharp by wit, thy maidenhood's reward; 
Thou mayst so wound me by one fickle word, 
That I am all at enmity and strife. 

Unwedded then, save to youth's foolish pride, 
Thou art still free, and chaste as virgin snow, 
That, taken in captivity, doth fade, 
And melt to water, clear as for a bride. 
Then surely I through frosty drifts may plough, 
To capture, in love's chase, th' unwedded maid. 



i24 SONNETS 



CXXIV 

THOU art, in truth, my muse's only guide, 
That fashions by this pen thine image here, 
Developed, through loving, year by year: 
The picture of thy beauty and thy pride. 
For all my verse doth hold, thou dost decide, 
Since, writing, I the thought of thee hold dear, 
And must portray thy very joy and fear, 
This mirror and thyself stand side by side. 

Then, should thy true resemblance live herein 
(An only offspring of my love, for me), 
I treasure this thy likeness as my child; 
And think thereon, as I do think on thee. 
For thou art both my angel and my sin; 
Since 't was my sin to be by thee beguiled. 



SONNETS 125 



CXXV 

BACK from the sculptured chantry of the past, 
The chiselled forms of memory appear, 
Like stately sentinels of night, yet dear 
And welcome, as they gather swift and fast; 
Fast on the heels of love, returned at last, 
And swift, as recollection draweth near. 
The songs of th' exalted choir ring so clear, 
They echo thoughts that time hath long recast. 
Old chambers of the mind lie thus exposed, 
By some strange magic, moved with nature's wand, 
And furnished by deft hands. Doors, once fast closed, 
Are opened to admit the wondrous band 
Of spiritual workmen, unopposed, 
Who build anew things fashioned by our hand. 



126 SONNETS 



CXXVI 

IF all the value of my love is this, 
That by its pain my verse may have some lasting, 
Oh, let it bear the fruit of my long fasting; 
Not in fulfilment of its end remiss, 
But yielding somewhat of that holy bliss 
Denied me, though on others its joy casting. 
No youthful heart, no hope let me be blasting; 
No maiden keep from her true lover's kiss. 

Then end thy tale, sad heart that in me dieth, 
For want of sunshine from my love's sweet smile. 
Give unto life the love that in thee lieth; 
Since what thou lovest only would defile. 
Gain for thyself the name of one who trieth 
Love's truth to teach, though sorrowing the while. 



SONNETS 127 



CXXVII 

OH! lay aside thy pen, since thou must sing 
Forever in a mournful minor key, 
And let the world thy disappointment see, 
And hear the death-knell of thy spirit ring. 
Why write of love, since love thou canst not bring 
Within thy craving heart, that still must be 
Unsatisfied ? Why on thy bended knee 
Beg life from some cold, adamantine thing ? 
Yet at this final moment, more than e'er, 
Dost thou seem near to me, dear heart, and more 
Than when first found, dost thou seem sweet and fair, 
And of my love possess a greater store ! 
Then though my voice be still, and dead the air, 
In silence must I thy dear self adore. 



i28 SONNETS 



CXXVIII 

THE Wounded Eros fell upon the ground, 
His bow and quiver lying at his side; 
The one destroyed, the other but half tried. 
An arrow, aimed at man, its way had found 
Beneath the child's soft flesh; and with a sound 
At once both sweet and sad, he sank and cried 
In pain to Venus, beauty's queen and bride, 
As she descended from the heavenly mound. 

So with mankind : Love, wounded, may be seen. 
Felled by his own swift shaft, that poison brings, 
Instead of peace or gladness, to his heart. 
Filled with the vision of what might have been, 
He treasures still the very thought that clings, 
Like sable night, though from it he would part. 



SONNETS 129 



f~\ THOU, fair one, who never shalt be known, 
\J 'Though ages cover thy frail bones with dust, 
And time displace the greed of worldly lust ; 
Thou, whose gay spirit to my heart hath shown 
How great love may become when once full-grown: 
Thou, who hast been the fullness of my trust 
In all things born of love's fierce fire, — and must, 
Perforce, hold o'er thy head love's magic crown : 

Take all I have. I lay it at thy feet. 
Poor though it be, 't is thine. O ask not why ! 
Within these lines both joy and sorrow greet 
The lenient friend, who hath not passed them by. 
And may those lovers, who have found love sweet, 
Judge both our hearts when in the grave we lie. 



OCT .39 1903 



LIBRARY OF CONGRF^" 

IHUMIIJI 

015 908 419 A 




